


D Day

by My_Trex_has_fleas



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Alternative universe - WW2, Boats and Ships, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Sailors, Soldiers, Tanks, World War II, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Trex_has_fleas/pseuds/My_Trex_has_fleas
Summary: Ross can see the tracers, brilliant lines of white and orange against the slowly lightening sky. Beyond the darkness lies the Normandy Coast. It's the 6th of June, 1944 and only four more hours to go.
Relationships: Jim Hawkins/Ross Poldark
Comments: 80
Kudos: 42





	1. Cornwall - June, 1933

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nasri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasri/gifts).



> This is for Jacey, a wonderful friend, human being and writer I stand in awe of. Happy Birthday, my love. I hope I've done it justice. 
> 
> This story will post every day for ten days.

‘Are you awake, my little love?’

Ross squeezed his eyes shut and stifled a giggle, burrowing further into the blankets. Even though he was thirteen and too old for childish games, his mother’s gentle croon never failed to have him smiling. 

Grace perched on the edge of his bed, one hand dragging through his dark curls. 

‘Your hair has gotten long, hasn’t it.’ She made a thoughtful noise. ‘Perhaps your father can take you into the village today and get it seen to.’ 

‘No.’ Ross protested, all pretence at sleeping forgotten as he wriggled to face her. ‘You promised I could go play with Jim today.’ 

‘Did I?’ Grace asked, tilting her head. Her dark eyes were merry though and he knew she was just teasing him. ‘Oh very well, then. Although I do expect you to look like a respectable young man before you have to return to school.’ 

‘I will.’ Ross sat up, rubbing his eyes. ‘Must I take Claude?’

‘No. I want him with me today.’ Grace replied. Claude was only just four and couldn’t always keep up. ‘I know you and Jim will want to go sailing. It’s a beautiful day and the wind is just right.’ 

Ross beamed at her, then scrambled out of bed. Unusually, Grace liked to wake both her sons herself and she herded him over to the washstand. 

‘Don’t forget behind your ears.’ she instructed, stepping aside as his nurse, Clemency, came in. She would set out his clothes and get him ready for what would no doubt be a thrilling day of chasing fish in rock pools and sailing out into the bay on the small one masted skiff that Jim called his own, stripping to plunge into the clear blue water when it got too sunny. 

Washed and dressed, he was taken downstairs. His father, Joshua Poldark, was already sitting at the table. He peered at Ross over the tops of his half-moon spectacles and motioned to a chair. Ross grinned and seated himself, accepting a glass of milk from Jud. The older footman winked at him and went to get him a plate of oatmeal, the sensible breakfast made a little more palatable with the addition of cream and honey. 

Grace returned with Claude in her arms, setting him next to his older brother. They looked alike, with Grace’s dark colouring and Joshua’s strong features, and were loved and coddled in equal measures. Joshua’s standing as the second son meant that he had not inherited his father’s title. That had fallen to Charles Poldark, along with the family seat at Trenwith. Nampara, Ross’ home, was a smaller estate with a long length of coastline that rounded the head, where the Plenwyth Lighthouse stood. It also meant that, unlike Charles’ children, he and Claude were raised with a far greater amount of freedom. Francis and Verity had very strict rules to follow with regards to behaviour and how they spent their time. Ross was glad he had no such restrictions and he wolfed his oatmeal, thinking of all the ways he might persuade Prudie to part with some choice goodies from the kitchen to take with him. 

‘I see that they’ve signed the pact.’ He looked at his wife, thick dark brows drawn together. 

‘No good will come of that.’ Grace replied, looking singularly unimpressed. Ross wasn’t always able to follow what his parents conversed about, but he did know it had something to do with the government and the new leader of Germany, someone named Hitler. His father had nothing good to say about him or the Italian leader, Mussolini. Grace, who was remarkably well educated for a woman of her class (Verity frequently declared that she wanted to go to Cambridge like Auntie Grace had), she had plenty of opinions and it sometimes made for a thrilling evening listening to her argue with Uncle Charles and Joshua’s great friend, Ray Penvenen. 

‘I’m finished.’ Ross carefully wiped his face clean. ‘May I go?’

‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’ Joshua consulted his pocket watch. He still wore one, even though it was dreadfully old-fashioned. Ross had received a new wristwatch for his birthday, much shinier and with wonderfully curly numbers on the face. 

‘Not really.’ he replied. ‘Jim shall have been up for ages already.’ 

Jim Hawkins lived with the lightkeepers, an orphan that they had taken in with a view to making him their apprentice. His father and mother had run the Admiral Benbow, the village inn, and when they had both caught a fever and died, John Silver had been the one to insist the boy came to him and his fellow keeper, James Flint. Grace had taken an interest and her and Charles had seen to Jim’s education as an act of charity and he and Ross had been friends from the time they could both toddle around the garden. Now he was Ross’ very best friend and every day spent at boarding school was spent looking forward to seeing him again. 

‘In that case, I suppose you may be excused.’ Joshua said with a twinkle in his eye. Grace was too busy wiping Claude’s face clean and he bounded out the dining room and made a beeline for the kitchen, where Prudie ruled like the Queen of Sheba. 

He found her directing some of the kitchen maids and snuck up to the edge of the huge scrubbed pine table where she rolled her pastry, looking hopeful. He was too tall now to peer over the edge like he used to but she gave him the same indulgent smile and nodded at a canvas rucksack set on the sideboard. 

‘Should be enough to keep you going.’ she said in her lilting Cornish accent. ‘Now get out of my kitchen.’ 

Ross smiled broadly at her and grabbed the rucksack. It was weighty, no doubt full with pies and fruit from the orchards, maybe a couple of bottles of Prudie’s wonderful pink lemonade. He swung it on his shoulder and waved goodbye, dashing out the back door into the stable yard and past the walled garden. His bicycle was waiting for him with one of the stable lads, and he climbed on and started pedaling for all he was worth. 

He took the dirt track that would lead past the formal gardens at the back of Nampara and down through the woods. Eventually they thinned out to meadows that overlooked the beaches and the headland itself, the lighthouse right at its promontory. There was a squat white building next to it, the house for the keepers that was Jim’s home and he rested the bicycle against the wall and knocked on the door. He heard the sound of movement inside and then the door was yanked open to reveal a freckled face and a pair of brilliant blue-green eyes, all topped off with a mop of hair that was the same colour as summer straw. Silver liked to joke that Ross and Jim were like the perfect contrast to each other, one dark, pale skinned, tall and slender and the other short, tanned, fair-haired and showing a stockiness that made him a dab hand at managing a skiff on his own. 

‘Ross!’ Jim threw himself at him and Ross laughed and caught him, the two of them roughhousing for a few minutes until a tall man with dark brown skin and black eyes came out, looking at them sternly. John Silver was one of Roseland’s more unusual sights, walking about on a wooden peg leg as he did. He had served in the Royal Navy, his parents hailing from the colony of Jamaica, and set up home in Cornwall twenty years before. James Flint was an old shipmate and he was just as opposite to Silver, with his snow white skin laden with freckles, fiery red hair and green eyes, as Ross and Jim were to each other. 

‘Lads.’ He eyed them both and they stopped tussling and stood tall. Silver had instilled naval values in Jim and he had, in turn, passed on a few to Ross. ‘Be sure to be back by sunset.’ 

‘Yes, sir.’ Jim gave him a near perfect salute and Silver chuckled and ruffled his hair. 

‘Get on with you, Jim-lad.’ His voice was a soft Jamaican burr. ‘And take that weed masquerading as a boy with you.’ He gave Ross a scrutinising look. ‘I swear you’ve grown another five inches, Master Poldark.’

‘I have.’ Ross proclaimed proudly. ‘Mama says that I’ll be needing new trousers soon.’ 

‘I can see that.’ Silver shut the door and walked with them to the wall surrounding the lighthouse complex. ‘You’re sailing?’

‘Aye.’ Jim was staring out to sea, his face thoughtful. ‘The wind is fine.’ He could read the weather better than most adults and he was perfectly home on the water, swimming or sailing. 

‘I’ll be at the light.’ Silver rested his hand on Jim’s shoulder, a quick affectionate squeeze, and then he took off, moving quickly and with far more agility than one might expect from a man with only one leg. 

‘Come on.’ Jim tugged on Ross’ sleeve. ‘Let’s go.’ 

They left Ross’ bike at the house, running down the coastal path that led down to the small bay next to the headland on the northern side. Ross had longer legs but Jim was wiley and held onto him as they scrambled down the slope, giggling breathlessly when they got to the bottom. There was a small stone pier leading out into the water, crystal clear so you could see all the way down to the bottom. 

There was a man already there, older and grizzled with a beard that was most formidable. 

‘Mornin’.’ He tipped his cap as they approached. ‘Jim, you be going sailing?’

‘Aye.’ Jim nodded, blond head bobbing up and down. ‘The winds are fair.’ 

‘That they be.’ The man grinned at Ross and he inched closer to Jim. Billy Bones was something of a local legend and he scared Ross a tiny bit. 

‘Where’s Black Dog?’ Jim asked, completely at ease with his hands in his pockets. ‘I thought he might like to come with us.’ 

Billy lifted his hand to his mouth and whistled, sharp and piercing. There was a bark from somewhere near the end of the pier and a moment later a large ball of black fluff appeared. Black Dog belonged to Billy, but he haunted most of the headland as he chose. He was Newfoundland, a pup bought from a passing Canadian sloop that had anchored at Penzance for a week. Ross had no idea how Billy had managed to buy him. Jim said that he was richer than his worn clothing and ramshackle cottage would tell, that he knew the smugglers’ caves all along the coast and had found hidden treasure that he traded or sold to earn his living. Black Dog was about six months old, as ebullient as a puppy could be and always up for a game or an adventure. Like most Newfoundlands, he was completely at home in or on the water, much like Jim himself. Ross knew all of this from the long letters Jim sent him every week detailing the happenings in the village while Ross was at school, although this was the first time he was meeting Black Dog in person. 

‘Here.’ Jim caught his wrist and made Ross stick out his hand. ‘He’ll want to smell you.’ 

Ross did as instructed and when Black Dog got to them, he wiggled his way around his master and Jim before sticking his wet nose in Ross’ crotch. 

‘Um.’ Ross gave Jim a panicky look. Jim, however, was too busy snickering to help him until Black Dog got a little too excited and nearly knocked Ross off the pier into the water. 

‘He’s a rum ‘un.’ Billy chortled. ‘But if you should fall overboard, Master Ross, he’ll be right in after ye.’ 

‘That’s good.’ Ross chanced a pat and Black Dog squirmed and pushed his head into Ross’ hand, plumy tail hitting his legs. ‘He’s friendly.’ 

‘He’s ridiculous.’ Jim declared and then yelled when Black Dog rose up on his hind legs. Like that he was easily able to reach Jim’s face, licking him furiously while Jim giggled and tried to fight him off. 

‘I’ll leave you rapscallions to it.’ Billy gave them a quick salute. Jim finally managed to get Black Dog back down on four paws and jumped easily into the dinghy. It was his, a clinker built eleven footer with a single foresail and named the Hispaniola. Jim handled it like an extension of his limbs, and he held out a hand and beckoned Ross to join him. Ross threw the rucksack across first, then clambered aboard. Black Dog ran back and forth a few times and then charged in after them, barking excitedly and setting up in the bow, his paws resting on the front bench. 

‘Cast off for ye?’ Billy offered and threw the bowline into the dinghy, followed by ambling to take care of the stern line. He waved as Jim got a hand up and pushed them off, using an oar to skull away from the pier. Once they were far enough he unfurled the sail and set it to catch the light breeze coming off shore, while Ross steered them out, turning the tiller to take them out into the bay. Once the wind caught, Jim moved to take his place and Ross could go sit in the bow with Black Dog, the Hispaniola bouncing merrily along the waves and out to sea. 

About a hundred yards from shore, Jim dropped the anchor and the Hispaniola bobbed about. Ross grinned, stripping off his clothes faster than one could blink. He loved swimming and swimming with Jim was fun, mostly because Jim was like one of the spotted grey seals that littered the beaches in spring. He folded everything up neatly and tucked the bundle under the bench, then balanced as the boat rocked wildly. Black Dog had launched himself over the side and was doggy paddling around them, barking his delight. 

Jim laughed, his eyes sparkling. 

‘Last one to the buoy loses!’ He declared and dived in, cutting through the water. He was a uniform tan all over, spending almost his entire summer holiday swimming when his chores were done. Ross was still pasty and he rubbed his hands up and down his thin arms. Grace said he’d grow into himself eventually, but some days he felt like he was all arms and legs. 

He leapt out over the rail, hitting the water tucked up for maximum splash. Jim laughed again and sent up a sheet of water at him and Ross struck out, swimming past and ducking under the water. He could see right to the bottom here. It was only a few yards deep and he turned his head to see Jim next to him. He smiled and blew bubbles from his nose, breast-stroking his way down and down towards the bottom. The bay was mostly white sandy bottom, with the occasional rocky outcrop covered in corals and sponges and skirted by small shoals of fish. 

Ross held his breath as long as he could, turning belly-up to see Black Dog’s churning paws pass overhead. He kicked, stirring a small cloud of sand and headed back up. Jim was still below. He could hold his breath for ages. 

When his head broke the surface, Ross breathed in deep and floated on his back for a bit. The sun warmed his bare skin and he closed his eyes, the gentle swell of the waves lulling him into a deep and easy rest. School was so busy, throngs of boys all crowded together and the constant chatter about schoolwork, the Masters and cricket. Here it was just him and the water and the seagulls overhead. He eventually righted himself to see that Black Dog had struck out for shore while he’d been drifting and was now on the beach, shaking himself furiously. 

A touch on his shoulder had him spinning in the water to see Jim treading water next to him. His blond hair was darkened and his eyelashes clumped together. Ross mirrored his brilliant smile and splashed him. 

‘Better than school.’ Jim turned onto his back and Ross resumed his former position so they were side by side, their hands brushing every now and then. When they did, he felt Jim’s fingers seek his out, threading through them until they were connected at the hand. 

‘Better than school.’ He replied. ‘School doesn't have you.’ 

Jim laughed. 

‘The fete is next Saturday.’ He said and his voice was sly. ‘Are you going to try and hunt down Elizabeth again?’

Ross felt his face heat up, knowing he was probably red. He had longed for Elizabeth’s attention for what felt like forever, but something had changed this past term. Ross had started dreaming about something other than brown eyes and pale skin. He didn’t know what it meant yet, but holding Jim’s hand did something to him that it hadn’t before, his stomach lurching pleasantly when he let his eyes steal a look at Jim’s sleek form in the water next to him. 

‘Maybe.’ He replied, just to keep up appearances and also to make Jim pout, which he did right on cue. 

‘I don’t know why you like her.’ He snorted, sounding venomous. Jim had a possessive streak and he had no qualms about staking a claim on what he thought was his and that had always included Ross. Now though, it felt darkly thrilling instead of annoying and Ross thought back to hushed whispers late at night in the dormitories about kissing and other things the older boys got up to. 

He looked at Jim’s face, his eyes landing on Jim’s mouth. It reminded him of the cherubs in the painting that hung in Nampara’s Great Room, a perfect bow with a full lower lip that Grace said made Jim look like an angel brought to life, along with his golden colouring and seascape eyes. 

Ross wondered what Jim would do if he just tried something. He moved to tread water and Jim frowned and then did the same so they were facing each other. 

‘You’re jealous.’ Ross smiled. ‘Of Elizabeth.’ 

‘No.’ Jim huffed. ‘She’s just a stupid girl.’ His cheeks were pink though and Ross took a deep breath, surging forward in the water. The kiss was brief and completely innocent, a press of mouths more than anything else. When he pulled back, he expected Jim to do something like splash him or call him names but when Ross looked at him, he was just staring. His light eyes were wide and then he moved, coming back to kiss Ross in return. This time it lingered a little longer and when they parted Ross smiled at him, his heart racing. 

‘Don’t worry.’ He said. ‘I’ll always love you best.’ 

They swam some more until they both tired and then hauled themselves out into the dinghy. Ross grabbed the rucksack and set out their spoils - sandwiches made with thick slices of cheese and the piquant sweet pickle that won Prudie many awards at the county fete, greengages from the Nampara orchard and the greatest prize of all being the delicious sweet lumps of fudge that were rich with clotted cream from the Nampara herd. 

They ate, the sun beating down on their thin shoulders, and Jim chattered about the summer squall they had had only a week ago and how it had taken down one of the village fishing boats. Ross wrinkled his nose at the description of the drowned man that had washed up only a day before. 

‘He was all white, like a fish belly.’ Jim stated matter-of-factly. ‘Silver said he belongs to the sea now.’

‘Really?’ Ross was fascinated in spite of himself. 

‘Sailors turn into dolphins when they drown.’ Jim said sagely. ‘Silver says so.’

‘Do you believe him?’ Ross wasn’t surprised by the statement. Silver was full of superstitions, a leftover from his island upbringing. 

‘Why not?’ Jim shrugged. ‘It’s better than going to a place full of clouds.’ He pulled a face and Ross grinned. Jim had been expelled from Sunday school on more than one occasion for asking too many questions the vicar had no answer for. 

They lay back and looked at the clouds drifting overhead and Ross sighed. 

‘If you end up being a dolphin, then I guess I’ll have to too.’ He said. ‘I don’t want to go to heaven if you’re not there.’

Jim snickered next to him and squinted at one particularly amusing cloud. 

‘You don’t have to worry about that.’ He replied. ‘I’m not going to heaven anyway. Miss Indlesworth says I have the very devil in me.’

‘Only because you put tacks on her chair.’ Ross pointed out. He’d heard stories about the new schoolteacher and her ideas of Chrstian charity from Jim’s letters.

‘She says mean things about Silver and Flint.’ Jim’s face turned fierce. ‘She tried to get the vicar to take me away from them and give me to her while you were at school.’

‘Bet that didn’t work.’ Ross laughed. He could just picture it, and also Jim’s reaction, all too clearly. ‘I can’t think they would let you go.’

‘She called Silver something really nasty.’ Jim sat up. ‘Your dad had to have a word and she’s kept her miserable mouth shut since then.’

Ross pursed his lips. He wasn’t blind to how half the village treated Silver, even if his family enforced the idea that a man be judged by what was in his heart and not the way he looked. Grace had been particularly strict on that point. 

‘If she tries to take you away, I’d just have to come get you back.’ He said. 

Jim looked out to the horizon, his blue-green eyes thoughtful. 

‘I sometimes think that maybe we could be like them.’ He looked almost shy, glancing sidelong at Ross. ‘You could come and live with me in the lighthouse when they get too old to work it.’

Ross had to admit that it sounded like a grand idea. He knew that Joshua had earmarked one of the estate cottages for Silver and Flint when they retired and that would give him and Jim complete free run of the place. Jim could tend the light and he would be able to read all day if he wished and look out the great windows while he dreamed up complicated machines like his father did. 

The sun was lower, sitting just above the horizon when they made their way back to shore. It would be light for some hours yet and they walked Ross’ bicycle up the hill until they got to the lighthouse. The windows were flooded with gold light and there was a single dark figure on the walkway at the top. The odd gait told Ross it was Silver and when Flint opened the door of the lighthouse and came out to meet them, he smiled and gently ushered them inside. The bottom room of the lighthouse had oilskins hanging from hooks and wellington boots lined up near the small chests of drawers built into the wall and a pair of settees at right angles in front of the wood range with a larder cupboard and scrubbed wooden table to the right. The other living quarters were on the next two levels and Jim had a small alcove just under the light that he slept in and was his own. 

‘We want to go catch fireflies.’ Jim told him and Flint’s eyes crinkled in fondness. 

‘There are some upstairs.’ His accent was broad and rolling like the moors he’d been born on. ‘It’s good to see you, young Ross. How was the term?’

‘Boring.’ Ross declared, pausing on the spiral stairs to answer him while Jim bolted ahead. ‘I’m glad to be home.’ 

Flint chuckled as he followed them up. The main room on the next floor was just glimpsed through the door that stood ajar and Ross could see the neatly made double bed, dressed in a thick knitted comforter. He knew from Jim that Silver and Flint shared it just as his mother and father shared theirs. It made no difference to him. His aunt and uncle had never shared a room, not since their marriage. 

He thought he might like to share a bed with Jim. 

‘Here.’ Jim came barreling back down, a jam jar in each hand. ‘Let’s go!’

Flint settled himself back on the settee, his copy of 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea in his hand. 

‘Remember to come home when it’s dark.’ He told Jim and Jim smiled, running to quickly throw his arms around Flint’s neck for a brief moment, nearly braining him with the jam jar before he scampered back to Ross. 

‘I’ll make sure he does.’ Ross said gravely and Jim stuck his tongue at him, grabbing his hand and dragging him back outside with a wicked giggle.


	2. June 6th, 1944

_Off the Normandy Coast_

‘Captain Poldark.’

The shout to be heard above the noise broke Ross out of his reverie and he looked behind him. A young soldier, whose name Ross was having trouble recalling, saluted and then held out the scrap of paper. Ross took it and nodded his thanks, and the young man disappeared back into the darkness that covered the stern of the landing ship. The bow by contrast was alight with colour, the aerial and naval bombardments lighting up the sky with contrails of white magnesium and orange explosions when they hit the shore. The beach was taking the brunt of it, the German defensive line hiding in the houses that sat just behind the sea wall. Beyond that would be the village of Hermanville-Sur-Mer but Ross bet it would be fairly deserted of anyone but German troops. The landing sites were codenamed Queen Red and Queen White and they had eight exits that would lead off the beach and into the interior, priorities for the Engineers to clear before other regiments could move in.

He read the instructions carefully, squinting in the poor light. Below him, his men were restless. The waiting was always the worst part, but it would be a good three hours before they would start filling the landing craft, ready to take the beach in their AVREs. His Royal Engineers were more than just soldiers. They would be the ones clearing mines, cutting through wire and removing obstacles, laying down cables and setting charges before marching inland to defuse bombs and booby traps left for the unsuspecting. He adjusted his tin hat, the chinstrap itching. It was summer, humid and making everyone sweat in their thick serge uniforms.

He leaned against the bulwark behind him. The crew of the corvette they were on reminded him too much of Jim, neat and trim in their navy uniforms. There were more than a few Cornishmen here, men of the sea like Jim was except he wasn’t here. He was in the North Atlantic on the Cormorant, a Swan class sloop that escorted the convoys that carried vital cargo and troops between Europe and North America. Ross had a photograph of him, tucked safely away in his inside pocket for him to look at in his private moments. In it, Jim was on the bow of the Cormorant, blond hair ruffled by icy cold wind and even in the black and white shades of the picture, Ross could tell his cheeks were pink. He wore his heavy peacoat and his hands were in his pockets, the rails of the ship iced over and icebergs floating in the sea behind him. In spite of the obvious cold, Jim’s smile was brilliant. It was by far, Ross’ favourite picture of him.

He sighed and took out his cigarette case, using the silver lighter that Jim had given him the last time they were together to light one, clenching it between his teeth. That had been Christmas, the hotel room in London witness to their reunion. The war was reaching its zenith and they both knew that it may be the final time they saw each other. If Ross closed his eyes and thought hard enough, he could still taste the salt on Jim’s skin and hear his frantic breathing. He inhaled and exhaled, the smoke carried away by the breeze that brought the stink of cordite and oil and anxious men.

Three more hours to go.

His hand went to his pocket, fingers brushing the crumpled letter inside. He’d received it a week before, the internal postmarks on it telling him that Jim had been back on British soil for a brief time, giving the ship a chance to offload its mail. He was on duty almost permanently now as things heated up and Ross did wonder what it had done to him. The last time he’d seen Jim, his eyes had had a faraway look and he’d walked like he was still getting used to the land not moving under his feet, a common enough affliction in men who spent almost all their time at sea. There had been new lines around his eyes, his hair bleached almost white by the strong Atlantic sun and his skin deeply tanned, except where his trousers sat. Ross had been enamoured of that white skin, the contrast as sharp as if it had been painted. He’d spent a great deal of time over their four days lovingly examining it and pressing kisses to the sharp edge of Jim’s hip.

‘Sir?’ The deep voice of his Staff Sergeant, a tall capable man originally from Jamaica named Isaac Carter, had him startling for the second time that morning. He was jumpy and unsettled and he blew out a deep breath and gave Carter a raised eyebrow.

‘It’s a sad day when you can sneak up on me.’ he said and Carter grinned. His black eyes were warm with understanding though and Ross knew he could read the tension in him easily. It was one of the reasons they were such good friends, rank and upbringing meaning little when you had to trust the man next to you with your life.

‘You’re distracted is all, sir.’ he replied easily, coming to lean on the rail and watch the bombardment. ‘Jerry’s taking a bit of a kicking.’

‘I hope it’s enough of a kicking to keep him out of our hair when we hit the beaches.’ Ross took out his cigarettes and offered him one, lighting it for him as well. Carter inhaled with a sense of deep satisfaction, blowing smoke into the wind. They watched it drift and then turned to see another man approach. Like Ross, he wore the insignia of an officer with the Engineers, his rank also Captain.

‘Holmewood.’ Ross nodded and Holmewood took the place on Carter’s other side. He was a few years older than Ross, his hair already going grey at the temples and with sad dark brown eyes like a gundog. He waved off Ross’ offer of a cigarette and took out his pipe instead, making a show of filling it and tamping down the tobacco before lighting it, puffing away while they all watched the lights arcing through the sky.

Ross checked his watch. Landing was at 7.25 exactly, the entirety of three regiments packing into the squat landing craft to reach the beaches and hopefully all the planning of the past year would come to fruition and they’d finally break through the German lines and into the French interior. Ross wasn’t high up enough to be part of the planning. His job was to get his men down without getting them all killed, then to provide the infrastructure necessary to set up communications before starting the tedious work of dismantling the inevitable booby traps that the Germans would no doubt have riddling the dunes and beyond. The Engineers were always the first in and for very good reason.

‘Wills in order?’ Holmewood asked, pipe clenched between his teeth. Carter laughed and nodded.

‘Not that there’s much to be left.’ he said and Holmewood chuckled.

‘You’re well provided for.’ He patted Carter on the shoulder. ‘Just hope it’s me that buys it first.’

Ross smiled, amused by Holmewood’s tone. He was one of the most fearless men Ross had ever met and had stared death in the face without blinking an eye. It also made him a little reckless, so it was up to Ross and Carter to temper that.

‘Mine is all going to Jim.’

They both looked at him with sympathy. They both knew, of course they did, but they never mentioned it. It was something they simply didn’t speak of, in the same way that they didn’t speak of Holmewood’s visits to Carter’s cousin when he was in London. Society had let a lot of things go unmentioned but those were still taboo enough that it was better to keep mum. ‘Not that he’d need it. He’d be perfectly happy to sit in that lighthouse until the end of time with a dog or two. He’s a simple man with simple needs.’

‘I’ll tell him you said that the next time I see him.’ Carter grinned.

‘Please do.’ Ross smiled. ‘I’d quite like to join him.’

‘You two with great bushy beards.’ Holmewood laughed. ‘I can just see it now.’

‘What about Nampara?’ Carter observed. ‘Who’ll look after that while Ross is playing hermit?’

‘Claude, of course.’ Ross replied. ‘He’s got all the makings of a country squire.’

‘Claude has all the makings of a terrible rake.’ Holmewood pointed out and Ross had to concede a point. Claude was now fifteen, every bit as gangling as Ross had been but with such an impish charm he had every teenage girl within ten miles of Nampara sighing into their handkerchiefs at every society event he attended. Ross was glad he was out of it, safe at home in Cornwall or at school and far away from the horrors his older brother took for granted.

There was the sharp note of the bosun’s whistle and they all breathed a collective sigh.

Two more hours to go.

-

_Liverpool Harbour_

Jim stood on the bridge, his sharp eyes scanning the water in front of him. It had turned gold at the horizon already, the long summer days even longer this close to the Arctic circle. The Cormorant was at anchor, the gentle waters of the Liverpool harbour listing her in a hypnotic rhythm that had the eyelids of less wary lookouts drooping. He was fairly sure he’d fallen asleep on watch more than once himself, although he’d always deny it. The city itself was in blackout and the ships around him belonging to the merchant fleet and RN were black outlines against the sky.

Captain Sellar was below, sleeping while he was off watch and Jim was on the bridge with the First Officer, a lanky Glaswegian named McPhearson. He was older, being thirty five to Jim’s twenty-four, and he treated him much the same way he treated his younger brothers. Jim knew there were twelve of them, all boys and all but three enlisted in various parts of the navy.

He sighed and checked his watch. Everyone knew what today was and what the significance of it could be. There were few who didn’t know someone who would be involved in some way or another. In fact, two of Mcphearson’s brothers would be right there alongside Ross when they stormed the beaches of the Norman coastline.

They were calling it Sword and Jim had snorted when he’d heard that. Ross had always loved being the gallant knight when they’d played as children and he was no different now. Jim had long ago learned not to try and change him, loving Ross for his bravery and steadfastness even if it made him stupidly noble.

Then again, he had said the same about Jim when he’d signed up for service in what was possibly one of the most dangerous places on Earth at that point. Jim wasn’t unaware of the risks he faced as a matter of course, and he’d seen many a good man go to his death because of a German torpedo. But it was his job and he’d do it until his ship sank from under him or the war ended. He was hoping for the latter but the former was never far from his mind.

He dipped his hand in his pocket, taking out the crumpled envelope. Ross’ writing was as sprawling as he was and Jim smiled to himself, rubbing his thumb over his name. There had been a photograph inside, Ross with Carter and Holmewood in Dorset. They had been bareheaded and smiling in the spring sunshine and Jim’s heart had nearly beaten out of his chest. Ross was terribly handsome, tall as a poplar tree and with his mother’s dark colouring that made him so very dashing. Not even the scar on his face, running down from his left eyebrow to almost the corner of his mouth and the result of a stray bullet in North Africa, could mar his perfection in Jim’s eyes.

‘Lieutenant.’ McPhearson spoke and Jim slipped the letter into his pocket and turned to acknowledge him.

‘Sir?’ He moved to where McPhearson was poring over a chart. They were due to sail at the tide with the other ships in their escort group to protect one of the many conveys coming from Scotland and making the perilous Atlantic crossing to North America.

‘Lieutenant Commander Starling has assigned us to a front position.’ He nodded at the chart and the pennies he had set out to represent the ships in their group. ‘We have the 37th and 42nd with us as well.’

Jim nodded. The convey they would be escorting was composed of heavy cargo ships and it moved slower than the large liners that had been requisitioned to transport troops. This meant that they were more exposed and subject to attacks, the German Wolf Pack more than capable of running them down. Jim had nothing but respect for the U-Boats they encountered. Their crews and captains were wily. A stupid U-Boat commander did not last long and they had come to identify some as repeat attackers and give them the respect they demanded.

‘Starling is leading, of course.’ McPhearson said and Jim was pleased. Starling captained a Town Class destroyer, the Valiant, and had three Flower Class corvettes in his groups. Jim had friends on all the corvettes, the crews of the smaller ships tending to be quite clannish. The Cormorant was a Black Swan Class sloop and so a little larger. There was another in his group, along with their own four corvettes. The final group was made up of Hunt Class destroyers, five of them in their distinctive black, white and grey livery. They had escorted together before and had an excellent service record. The destroyers and sloops had greater firepower than the corvettes, but the smaller ships had more maneuverability and harassed the U-Boats while the larger ships took them out. The Cormorant had six Mark XVI guns fore and aft, along with an array of smaller guns and forty depth charges aboard, making her a formidable adversary.

When Jim had first joined up, his knowledge of the sea and experience in sailing had seen him climb through the ranks rapidly. He’d never seen himself above any of the crew, knowing every midshipman and able seaman was vital in ensuring that the Cormorant ran smoothly. He could see them moving about the deck below, cleaning and getting ready to haul anchor on the fleet commander’s word. Then they would sail north, past the Isle of Man and exit between Belfast and Portpatrick before bearing due west. The North Atlantic Convoy Route would take them across to Halifax, a route that Jim knew he could probably now sail blindfolded. The entire fleet would be moving haphazardly, zigzagging to throw off any U-Boats that might be lurking in the vicinity. If they were approached, both the gun crews and depth charge crews would be called into play and the Cormorant was a successful hunter. She hadn’t reached the giddy heights of their most successful ship, who had sunk a record twenty-nine U-Boats to date, but she had a respectable haul of fifteen and counting.

As it got lighter, the harbour around them came to life. The radio crackled and orders flew through the shared channel. Jim took a deep breath, the Cormorant’s smells of diesel and cordite as familiar now as the scent of Ross’ neck.

‘Lieutenant Hawkins.’ McPhearson’s grey eyes were bright with anticipation. ‘Take her out.’

-

_White Queen, Sword Beach_

Ross bit back the churning in his belly and focused. The sea was whipped up by the multitudes of landing craft approaching the beach, moving to avoid the massive concrete structures that lurked beneath the waves to prevent the landing troops from getting through, part of the so-called Atlantic Wall, and even though he was safe inside his AVRE, he still felt the nervous trepidation that came with going into action. He was stood in the turret, watching their progress. The AVRE behind him was Holmewood’s and like Ross’, it was crowded with men, all Royal Engineers whose priority would be to start clearing the beaches of mines as soon as they hit the ground running.

From the dunes, heavy fire blasted the ships behind them. Below him, Carter was as steady as a rock, all his easygoing smiles left behind the second they boarded the landing craft. He caught Ross’ eye and nodded, his mouth a grim line. Ross gripped the edges of the turret until his knuckles were white and listened to Carter giving instructions, his voice sure and confident. He inspired the men under him every bit as much as Ross did and as the landing craft hit a wave, water coming up to drench them, Ross closed his eyes and thought about Jim for the last few moments before he felt it lurch and stop. They were a few metres from the sand, the water knee deep. Around them, the other landing craft crowded the beach like crabs, jostling for position as bullets flew past them.

Ross retreated below, closing the turret behind him and squeezing past the gunner, a pale faced eighteen year old named Jim Carter, a Cornwall native as well. There was a great deal of amusement that he shared a surname with their driver, although they mainly referred to him as Jimmy. He was all elbows, much like Ross had been at that age, and there was a brief tussle before he moved into the main compartment. Carter was the tank’s main driver and he was crammed into the cramped space with the other four men that made up their AVRE crew. He knew them all well, apart from the NCO demolitions sapper. He’d been assigned just before the assault and he seemed affable enough. He was older, a smiling Scotsman named Donnington who was a career Engineer that had seen action in the First World War as part of the BEF. Ross had to marvel at him. The rest of the AVRE crew treated him like a lucky mascot, claiming he was clearly charmed if he’d managed to live through all that he had.

‘Sir?’ Carter looked to him and Ross looked to Carlisle, his radioman. Carlisle handed over a bit of paper that he'd scribbled their orders down on and Ross nodded and gave the order.

The AVRE rumbled around them. Ross was fortunately not afflicted by claustrophobia, even inside what amounted to a pressure cooker. They were all sweating and Donnington’s spectacles were steamed up. He took them off to wipe them down as Carter shifted gears and the AVRE tilted down as it made its way off the landing craft, landing with a dull thud and righting itself. Its treads would be churning up the water and Ross grinned, hoping that all the men on top had held on and not fallen in the water. Almost immediately, the AVRE’s metal shell was being peppered with small arms fire, the pinging sounds of bullets meeting steel-plate mostly drowned out by the powerful engine.

Carter’s co-driver was another Caribbean born soldier, from Trinidad and Tobago this time. Headley was in his early twenties, like Ross, but there the similarities ended. He was small, barely topping five foot three, and very comfortable in the confines of the tank. He was also their resident clown, cracking jokes as they began advancing up the beach. Jimmy was in his seat already, ready to fire up towards the dunes. The AVRE carried a six pounder that fired what they called flying dustbin lids, a twenty-eight pound highly explosive warhead attached to a shaft and tail and fired from the spigot mortar that was at the front of the turret. That, combined with the tank’s thick armour that would resist several strikes by anti-tank artillery, made them ideal as a frontal assault. The other tanks ahead of them were the amphibious DD Tanks used by the 13/14th Hussars. They were laying down covering fire for the 8th Infantry Division, who were taking the beach on foot. This initial drive was being combined with troop drops by the 6th Airbourne Division in an attempt to flank the Germans and drive them back.

The noise was now deafening - bombardment and the sounds of small and large arms fire. Somewhere to their right was the distinctive roar of a tank exploding and the shock wave was enough to jolt them all out of their seats for a moment. Headley had left his place next to Carter and was working to reload the mortar, Jimmy being the one to sight and fire it. They went over something hard and Carlisle caught Ross’ eye. Ross braced himself, taking even breaths to keep himself as calm as possible as he manned the periscope. His orders were to head for the third exit from the beach and he left Carter to drive them in that direction. Once they had cleared a pathway through, they would be able to form a perimeter and leave the tank to assist with setting up communications, while Donnington would join the other sappers to get to work on the buildings.

‘Shit!’ Carter steered the tank right, the sound of landing artillery a little too close for comfort. Ross spared a thought for the infantry troops, out there on foot with only their rifles and helmets to keep them safe. All in all, twenty-nine thousand men would be landing. The sheer numbers were key in overwhelming the German defences and while everyone knew the price would be grim, it had been deemed the only way to break through into France and give them a doorway to Europe.

That was if they made it through.

‘Sir?’ Jimmy called to him and Ross grinned and looked through the scope. He could see barricades up ahead, stretching from one side of the exit to the other.

‘Take us through it, Jimmy.’ he ordered and watched in great satisfaction as the mortar hit its target and exploded, shrapnel raining down on the AVRE shell. Carter shifted the gears and the AVRE lurched forward. It cleared the exit, the small arms fire intensifying until it sounded like they were in a hailstorm.

There was an odd sound, barely audible through the walls of the tank, but it was so familiar that they all knew what was coming. Ross had barely any time to shout a warning before the anti-tank round hit, the AVRE swaying like a tree in a storm. Ross had a terrified second where he waited for it to tip off its tracks but then it righted itself and Jimmy turned the turret in the direction it had come from. Ross was on the periscope too, seeing a small group of figures, all of them caught dead to rights in his crosshairs.

‘Corporal.’ he bellowed and Jimmy fired, the nest of soldiers disappearing in a flash of orange fire and a thick pall of smoke. Ross didn’t wait for it to clear, ordering Carter forward and the AVRE started moving once again.

-

_The Northern Irish coast_

The shores were green.

Jim blinked a few times, clearing his vision. He’d come onto the foredeck at the end of his watch to smoke a cigarette and get some air before going deep into the ship to grab something to eat and a few hours sleep in his bunk before going on watch again.

He turned as someone came to lean on the rail next to him. It was Will Preston, another of the lieutenant's aboard. He was pale and drawn, his eyes silvery grey. He and Jim had a kinship for they were the same in their secrets. Preston, however, was lucky. His lover, a tall sandy haired young man named Jack Halford, was on the Cormorant as well, serving as an Engineer Second Class. They barely saw each other but the simple knowledge that they were within reach was something Jim envied terribly. His worst fear was that the Cormorant would take a torpedo to the hull and take him with her, leaving Ross behind.

‘The buggers are lurking, no doubt.’ Preston spoke around the cigarette clenched between his teeth. He had an older brother in the service, stationed aboard a destroyer down off the coast of South America and his father and uncle had both been pioneers on those first magnificent dreadnoughts only twenty-odd years before, much like the one that had been their first posting.

‘I expect so.’ Jim replied, inhaling deeply and blowing out the smoke to see it blow away in the breeze coming offshore. It was a particularly fine day and he thought about summers gone past, clear blue seas and the taste of salt on Ross’ skin. He glanced again at his watch and Preston caught the movement, the corner of his mouth quirking up although there was only sympathy in his smile.

‘He’ll be alright. Ross is a good soldier.’

‘I hope so.’ Jim looked back at the land. Here it seemed so peaceful, a world away from the war and all the blood that would be shed by the end of the day. ‘I really do.’


	3. Cornwall, 1937

The train pulled into Truro station and Ross peered out the window. He had fallen asleep on the long trip from London, tired out from studying and his exams but now the summer stretched before him glorious with sunshine and the beauty of his home. He fell out of the train onto the platform, found a porter to help him with his trunk and went in search of his father. Joshua had a love for the station cafe scones and he was in the cafe, genteelly wiping his moustache free of crumbs and cream, his dark eyes merry when he saw his son in the doorway. 

‘Hello lad.’ He got up and nodded to the tea lady, his hand warm on Ross’ shoulder. ‘I’ve had a busy morning. Your mother required all the new periodicals and I got trapped in the newsagent’.

‘A likely story.’ Ross laughed as they left the station. Joshua’s car was parked outside and they got the trunk loaded and he tipped the porter, getting a tipped cap in thanks. ‘How is everyone?’

‘All in good spirits.’ Joshua replied. ‘I was up in London last week. I thought about coming to see you, but you were busy with exams and so I decided against it.’ 

Ross was curious. The Poldarks had made their money in mining until the twenties, when Joshua had sold them off and sunk his money into other investments, including construction. His own career as an engineer was now largely done, although Ross was determined to follow in his father’s footsteps. He was in Year Five at Harrow and would be going to Oxford after he graduated the following summer. Joshua and Ross’ grandfather had both read engineering at Christchurch and he would not be any different. 

‘Is there a lot of bother about what is happening in Europe?’ he asked while they were driving towards Roseland. While Joshua had never taken up being an MP himself, he had many friends in Whitehall and was very politically aware. When one had investments around the world, it paid to be informed. 

‘Yes.’ Joshua looked serious. ‘I thought the depression would be the worst we might face this year, but what I’m hearing is extremely concerning. The Nazis have policies that worry me greatly and their hand in certain circles hasn’t gone unnoticed.’

Ross glanced at his father. Joshua had raised him to be questioning and curious and he had heard the same whispers at Harrow. 

‘Do you think it will get very bad?’ he asked and Joshua sighed.

‘Only time will tell.’ 

Nampara was the same as when Ross had left. He found his mother in the orangery, pruning happily and humming. 

‘Hello darling.’ She kissed Ross’ cheek, leaving a scarlet mark that he absently rubbed off. ‘Goodness, I think you get taller every time you leave here. I’m tempted to ask what they’re feeding you so I can give it to my peonies.’ 

Ross smiled and drank in the sight of her. At forty, Grace was still more beautiful than most gamines. Her dark hair was artfully styled and her dress was a lovely shade of wine red that made her olive skin glow. 

‘It’s mostly stodge.’ he replied, but it was true. He had grown like a weed from the time he turned fourteen and now stood almost as tall as his father. Jim hated it, still a full head shorter than Ross and unlikely to get any taller. Robert Hawkins had been on the short side as well, but too make up for his stature Jim was filled with boundless energy and went through life like a small blond firework. 

Ross couldn’t wait to see him. 

‘We’re going to visit your cousins for lunch.’ Grace told him, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow when Ross pulled a face. ‘I know you want nothing more than to get out of your terribly constricting clothing and go bolting down to the lighthouse, but Jim is working. A few hours won’t do you any harm.’

Ross huffed but knew she was right. Jim had left school that year and was now working as Silver and Flint’s apprentice lighthouse keeper. He’d had little use for school, although he read far more voraciously and with greater enthusiasm than Ross did and had practically gobbled up Ross’ Latin and Greek textbooks. Jim had a knack for languages and was always pestering Ross to get him books so he could learn new ones. 

His trunk was in his room being unpacked by Jud when he got there. Ross sent him away and did the rest himself. Jud had a set of clothes laid out for Ross already in preparation for lunch and Ross took his time, showering and getting dressed. He detested wearing a tie after months of being subjected to school uniform, but Charles Poldark was far more traditional than Joshua and insisted on the proper attire. It was no surprise that his children were immaculately turned out and in dire need of some fun. Verity was a delight, even with her father’s restrictions on what she could and couldn’t do. Ross loved her like a sister and enjoyed talking to her. Verity was far more intelligent than her brother Francis, who was a terrible bore in Ross’ opinion. There had been something of a competition over Elizabeth Chynoweth, who’d grown into a great beauty. She’d had her cap set for Ross, being the same age as him, but Ross had had to gently dissuade her. Francis had been delighted and they’d been stepping out for a year already. An engagement was no doubt soon to be announced. His own lack of interest in Elizabeth had raised a few eyebrows, although Grace and Joshua had been quick to defend their son as being too young to make such a decision. Ross was fairly sure they knew the real reason for his reticence. They never ever spoke of it, but apparently there had been a great uncle who’d remained a bachelor for his entire life, living in a studio in Hammersmith with his best friend and making beautiful paintings of nubile naked young men. It wasn’t too difficult to make the connections, but the fact that they did not pressure Ross into behaving as expected was a great solace. 

He retrieved a packet of letters tied with twine from the lining of his trunk and held them as if they were the most precious of treasures as he went to his chest of drawers. Jim’s letters came every week without fail and while that was nothing new, the way they were written was. Ross wasn’t quite sure when the intimacy between them had turned into something that was deeper than friendship but it had, the words in those pages filled with a longing that he knew was not the kind men felt for each other. There were promises made and affections given that made Ross’ heart beat quicker and had him waking breathless in the night, his shorts soiled and lingering memories of rough hands and a hungry mouth making him shake with want.

‘Ross!’ He was jolted out of his thoughts by the arrival of Claude at his doorway. He beamed at his older brother and Ross tucked the letters in the back of the top drawer before crouching to hug him. Claude was still of an age where he enjoyed the tactile attention of his family and his dark eyes sparkled when he grinned at Ross and looked expectant. 

Ross smirked and produced a small bag of humbugs and a wooden yo-yo from his things. He’d bought them in London before getting on the train. Claude shrieked in delight and grabbed Ross’ hand, dragging him to the corridor and chattering about Colin, his new pony, as they made their way downstairs. Ross had no idea what had possessed Claude to name his pony Colin, but by all accounts he was now Claude’s pride and joy. He was a Dartmoor pony, inky black with a white snip on his nose and three white socks. Claude’s letters had been full of him. 

‘He likes humbugs too.’ Claude mumbled, his cheeks already bulging. 

‘Well, don’t feed him all of them.’ Ross said. His parents were in the hall, Grace pulling on her gloves while Joshua held her coat. 

‘Into the car.’ Joshua boomed, affectionately ruffling his younger son’s hair. ‘And don’t tell your uncle you spoiled your lunch.’ He took a humbug from the offered bag and popped it in his mouth. ‘When we get there, I expect you two to keep mum.’ 

‘Oh?’ Ross followed him out, Claude still hanging cheerfully off his arm. 'What do we get in return?'

‘The ability to leave early.’ Joshua smiled, his eyes twinkling. ‘I know where you want to go.’ 

The drive to Charles’ home took a little under half an hour and when they got there, the very stiff serving staff greeted them. A footman led them into the formal sitting room. Charles was ensconced in his favourite chair, Verity on a chintz sofa. Her pale face lit up when she saw Ross and she came over to greet him, while the adults went through the required pleasantries. She was a year older than Ross and fairly plain, although in his opinion her sweet nature made her far more beautiful than the snobbish and judgemental Elizabeth. 

‘Ross.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘I’m so glad you’re home. I have a new record you simply must hear.’ 

‘I can’t wait.’ Ross smiled. ‘How are you?’

‘Very well.’ Verity went pink at the way he took her arm. ‘Caroline and I are learning to drive.’ 

She whispered the last part. Charles was a true conservative when it came to how he thought women should behave. He hadn’t quite forgiven Joshua for marrying Grace, who’d been scandalous in her youth. His own wife, a small silent woman that Ross barely remembered who had also been named Verity. Her portrait still hung in the drawing room and Verity looked very much like her. Her death had made Charles’ temper even worse and Ross secretly thought that was why he was so beastly to Verity, treating her as little better than a servant. 

Ross grinned. Caroline Penvenen was the niece and ward of Raymond Penvenen, an extremely wealthy neighbour who had never married or had children of his own. He was devoted to her, the daughter of his late sister, and doted on her every whim. Caroline was even more beautiful than Elizabeth but her loveliness was swept aside by a sharp mind and character that had her doing anything that she wished. That included wearing trousers, smoking like a chimney, running wild through London and driving a most unsuitable (in Charles’ eyes) Jaguar S series at high speed through the narrow Cornish lanes and terrifying the locals. She had already left school and was now at St Martins studying photography. Ross was quite awestruck by her. Caroline had been the one to teach him to smoke and gotten him drunk for the first time and he quite simply adored her. 

‘How thrilling.’ He leaned into her and she giggled. 

‘We’ll take you for a drive later.’ Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘Unless you have other plans for your first night back.’

Ross gave her a grin but said nothing. Verity was sometimes more astute than anyone he knew, but her lack of judgement was far more like his parents than her father. Charles would have been apoplectic if it had been Francis who’d shown such unnatural inclinations and probably disowned him. 

The footman came in to announce lunch and they all went through. It was a very grand affair with snowy white table linen and silver and fine china. Ross had to admit that even though he hated the trial of humouring his uncle, the food more than made up for it. Today was no different and he happily served himself thick slices of roast lamb with summer vegetables cooked gently to preserve the crunch. He looked forlornly at the glass of red wine Grace was drinking and she favoured him with a small smile and shook her head discreetly. Instead it was cordial for the youngsters and Verity kicking him under the table and sliding her glass towards him for a sip when the adults were distracted. 

Halfway through lunch, there was a kerfuffle in the hall and Francis came blustering in, Elizabeth with him. She was very lovely in a dress of white lawn cotton, her pink and white complexion protected from the sun by a wide brimmed straw hat in the same scarlet red as her belt and clutch. She handed her hat, handbag and gloves off to the footman, blushing under Charles’ unforgiving scrutiny. He did not look kindly on lateness and glared at his son as Francis blithely ignored his father’s disapproval and pulled out a chair for her. 

‘Sorry we’re late.’ he announced. ‘We were at the Warleggans’.’

‘No excuse.’ Charles glowered, but everyone knew that Francis got away with murder, being the oldest and only son. 

‘Terribly sorry, Pater.’ Francis was unrepentant. He waved a supercilious hand at the footman and tapped his glass. ‘Business talk.’ 

Ross found that interesting. He looked at Joshua, noting how his father’s bushy eyebrows were looking menacing. That meant something was afoot and Ross made a mental note to badger it out of him later. 

Things settled down and Ross found himself being watched. He looked up to see Elizabeth giving him a scrutinising look. While the Chynoweths were reasonably well-off, they didn’t have the kind of wealth the Poldarks did. Ross knew part of why she’d pursued him was because he was the heir of the older son and as such, would have his hands on the bulk of the Poldark money when he came into his inheritance. That wouldn’t be for some time, of course, but Elizabeth was nothing if not enterprising. When she’d realised she was flogging a dead horse with him, she’d set out to catch herself another Poldark and Francis, who was as shallow as a puddle, was so taken in by her looks that he had fallen head over heels. Part of it was also getting one over on Ross. There had always been a rivalry between them. 

Dessert was stewed peaches and clotted cream and he ate far too much, his stomach aching slightly but not a regret in sight. Ross only wished he could take some for Jim, who had a terrible sweet tooth. After lunch, they retired to the garden for a digestive stroll. Verity and Ross escaped down a pathway that led through the formal gardens and into the rose bower. It was heavenly there, sweet smelling and thick with blossoms. 

‘I’m so bloody bored here.’ Verity complained. ‘And Papa won’t hear a word about me going to university. He keeps insisting that I don’t need an education, my entire vocation is to keep house like I’m some bloody wife.’ 

‘I know.’ Ross was very sympathetic. Verity was wasted where she was. She was brilliant with numbers and her hand in keeping the accounts was instrumental in checking the worst of her brother’s spending. ‘I wish I could help.’ 

‘You know he gave her Mama’s pearls last week.’ Verity’s mouth turned down and Ross was filled with righteous indignation and anger at his cousin and uncle for making her so unhappy. 

‘Those were yours.’ he said and Verity shrugged.

‘What Francis wants, Francis gets.’ There was bitterness there, deeply ingrained. ‘And what he wants is Elizabeth to say yes to marrying him. So he’ll go to any lengths to buy her favour.’ 

Ross knew she spoke the truth. Francis was his father’s pride and joy, in spite of the fact that he was lazy and spoiled and didn’t have a clue as to how the mines ran or what was involved. He reaped the spoils and spent his days driving around or playing tennis and his nights at the card table. 

‘Is he still gambling?’ he asked and Verity made a face. 

‘Worse than ever.’ she replied. ‘He takes Elizabeth up to London so she can shop and then loses a fortune every night.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Ross put an arm around her and she leaned into him. ‘Truly. If you like, I’ll take him around the stables and thrash him.’ 

Verity huffed quietly. 

‘He already loathes you.’ she told him. ‘He’s convinced that you want to steal Elizabeth when he’s not looking.’ 

Ross snorted loudly. He led her to a bench and they sat down, the silence between them as comfortable as a well worn couch, and basked in the afternoon sunshine.

-

It was late afternoon when they arrived back at Nampara, the sun turned golden and syrupy as it streamed through the oaks that lined the drive. Ross waited until his parents and Claude had gone inside before looking towards where he knew the sea was, smiling. He took his time, sauntering along the well trodden path. Jim knew he was returning that day and would no doubt have worked his hours so that he might be free later on in the evening. He stopped to graze on elderberries at the crest of the hill, the lighthouse in sight. Something moved out the corner of his eye and Ross stopped snacking to look down the track and see someone standing there. He broke out into a delighted smile, abandoning the elderberries and flying down the track as fast as his feet would carry him. 

Jim waited for him, his own smile brilliant. He was deeply tanned and it made his blue-green eyes stand out even more, freckles abundant across the bridge of his nose. He was grown now, as much as he would ever be, and sturdy from hard work and sailing. He caught Ross’ gangly body with ease, swinging him around like he would have a sweetheart. 

Ross laughed, finally finding his feet and wrapping his arms around Jim in turn and holding on as he breathed him in. Salt and clean air, the workings of the lighthouse embedded in his clothing. He buried his nose in Jim’s shoulder and closed his eyes, the feelings he’d been battling with spilling over until they threatened to drown him. 

‘Jim.’ It came out choked and he felt Jim’s arms tighten around him. 

‘I missed you, Ross.’ His voice was deeper than it had been a mere year ago and the promise in it sent a shiver down Ross’ spine. He pulled back and looked at his best friend, the lurch in his stomach new and exciting even as it made a thousand butterflies take flight. Jim met his eyes and Ross was emboldened by what he saw there. 

He raised his hands, cupping Jim’s face. 

‘I missed you too.’ He could feel Jim breathing on his face. ‘So much.’

Jim’s eyes were wide but not afraid or disgusted as Ross had feared, in spite of his letters. He stepped back out of Ross’ hold and took his hand. 

‘Come on.’ he said. ‘I know a place nobody will find us.’ 

They walked quicker than they would normally, their hands or shoulders brushing every few steps. Ross couldn’t stop smiling. This was all so new and exciting and he glanced at Jim, getting a grin in reply. There was only silence between then, growing heavier and heavier with each passing minute until they got to the pathway that led over the dunes and down to the beach. 

‘This way.’ Jim looked like he was keeping a most delightful secret and Ross followed him through the long seagrass. It got a little sandy and he took a moment to abandon his shoes and socks, rolling up his trouser legs. Jim was a few feet away doing the same and once they were done, he laughed and took off. Ross set his things down next to Jim’s and broke into a run. He was faster but Jim had a good head start and he was breathless with laughter by the time they got to the beach itself. The sand curved in a graceful half moon shape and at the far end, Ross spotted something new. 

‘Jim?’ He slowed to a walk, catching up where Jim was standing and looking extremely smug. ‘What did you do?’

‘I saw a picture in a book.’ Jim explained as they fell into step together. ‘They build them like this on Lindisfarne. It took me pretty much the whole of spring to put it up. I wanted it to be a surprise.’ 

It’s incredible.’ Ross was lost for words. He knew how handy Jim was. One of his main duties in the lighthouse was repairs and he’d learned a great deal about boatbuilding and sailmaking from the villagers. The structure in front of him was so delightfully odd and yet at the same time, it suited Jim perfectly. 

The main structure was crafted to look like the upturned hull of a boat with a door set into the wall that sealed off the front. Jim went to it and opened the door, revealing a dark interior. He beckoned to Ross. 

‘Well, go in.’ He was almost vibrating with excitement. 

Ross grinned and had to duck his head to pass through the door. Inside it smelled cool and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see that it was far more spacious than he’d expected. Jim had laid boards across the sand, but some of it had spilled through, grainy under the soles of his feet. There was a hammock strung from the main support beam and a small cast iron wood stove at one side, the pipe knocking through the roof and letting in some stray beams of sunlight. Jim had also found a couple of old sea chests to furnish the rest of the space, doubling up as seating and storage and Ross knew that at least one of them would be filled with books. 

‘I can’t believe you did this.’ He moved around, inspecting everything. There was a crate full of useful things - enamel plates and mugs, cooking supplies, tins of food and a can opener - and a stack of firewood for the stove. 

‘I decided that maybe we need a place to be alone. I hope I was wrong.’ Jim said and there was an odd little crack in his voice. Ross looked at him and that was when he saw it. 

‘Oh.’ His heart started to pound. They had never stated things outright in their letters, but now he could see a difference in the way Jim was watching him, his light eyes turned almost navy in the shadowed light. 

‘Ross.’ Jim started to move towards him, then hesitated and Ross couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He took the three steps he needed to reach Jim, intent on making the first move, but as usual Jim was right there with him. They practically crashed into each other and then Jim was up on his toes, one hand twisted in the front of Ross’ shirt and the other catching him round the back of his neck to pull him in. 

It was graceless, full of enthusiasm and desire but no finesse at all. Their teeth clacked and they broke apart, hands over their mouths before catching each other’s eye. Jim snorted loudly and the spell was broken. 

‘Not exactly the great romantic hero.’ Ross grumbled and then sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Jim smiled, soft and dimpled, and closed the space between them again. This time was slower, gentler and it was nothing like Ross expected. Jim’s mouth was yielding, his hands coming to land on Ross’ hips. He made a greedy little noise and took control of the situation entirely and Ross gasped. Jim smiled against his mouth, followed by the warm wet brush of his tongue. Ross wasn’t quite sure what to do, completely overwhelmed by what he was feeling and horribly aware of how his body was responding. Jim laughed, his whole body shaking as he pulled back from him, his eyes sparkling even in the darkness. 

‘Better?’ he asked and Ross nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak without squeaking. He was the one to go back, taking Jim’s face in his hands once more and being the one to press forward. It was strange and wet and Jim tasted like salt water but as they persisted, it got easier and soon it was almost instinct. 

When they parted, both of them were starry eyed and breathing hard. There was a cobweb fine line of spit still connecting their mouths and then Jim laughed. He sounded giddy. 

‘You have no idea how much I’ve thought about that.’ he said and Ross gulped audibly. His whole body felt like it was on fire and he blushed when he realised how hard he was. He wanted nothing more than to pin Jim to the ground and get his hands all over him. 

‘I’ve been stuck at school for months.’ he replied, his voice rough. ‘Believe me, I know.’ 

‘Really?’ Jim’s smile turned wicked. ‘What have you been thinking about?’

‘I can show you, if you like.’ Ross couldn’t believe his own boldness but it seemed to work because the next thing, he had an armful of warm, writhing Jim and his mouth was being attacked. He made a startled noise, muffled by Jim’s mouth and toppled over. Jim went with him, sniggering noisily when they got their breath back. He sat up, straddling Ross, and beamed at him. 

‘I’m so glad you said that. I have so many ideas.’ He was already shrugging out of his braces and the weight of what they were about to do hit Ross like a shelf of books had just fallen on him. He wasn’t unaware of sex, not completely at any rate, and he could see that Jim was every bit as erect as he was. He did his fair share of wanking, like all the boys at school, but this would be the first time anyone else had touched him in such a way. 

He watched wide eyed as Jim stripped off his shirt, forgoing the buttons and chucking it behind him. He was broader in the chest now, his skin a warm even gold but still perfectly smooth. He had yet to start shaving and the hair on his chest clearly hadn’t caught up either. Ross swallowed hard and allowed himself to reach for him, his palms sliding over Jim’s stomach, the only place there was any sign of hirsuteness in form of a soft golden trail that led down and down and into madness, if all of the school’s dire warnings on self-abuse and unnatural behaviour were to be believed. 

Jim watched him in turn, his smile bright before falling onto Ross. This kiss was anarchic in its disorder, wet and messy as they chased each other’s tongues. Ross got an arm around Jim’s waist and instinct took over. He rolled his hips up and Jim moaned into his mouth and ground down in counterpoint until he was practically bucking in Ross’ arms. It went on for what felt like forever until Jim finally wrenched himself free. His mouth was shiny and he licked his lips and grabbed for Ross’ shirt.

‘Your turn.’ he ordered and Ross had to struggle to sit up. This of course meant that Jim slid forward and there was a moment of absolutely magnificent friction between their clothed cocks. It was enough to make them both gasp again and then Ross was frantically twisting out of his own shirt. Jim’s nimble fingers were at his fly, opening his trousers before sliding one down the front of Ross’ underwear, making him yelp when they deftly curled around his erection and tugged lightly. 

‘I always forget how big you are.’ Jim had one eyebrow cocked, mischief all over his face. ‘Now I actually get to put my hands on you.’ 

Ross was lost. He couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but pant and make embarrassing noises as Jim twisted his wrist expertly and then it was there, shocking in its intensity and enough to knock a startled cry out of Ross that sounded too loud in the shed. He held onto Jim’s shoulders, looking down between them to see how Jim’s hand was wet, pale streaks coating his fingers and dribbling down his wrist. His cock looked angry, still red and hard in spite of his climax, and Ross whined when Jim eased him down with one slow stroke. 

‘Me next.’ He flicked the semen from his hand as best he could and Ross’ brain finally caught up with him. He went to work on Jim’s trousers, easing them open and doing the same. It was awkward from this angle, not at all like using his hand on himself but he eventually got a rhythm going and looked up to see Jim biting his lip, his cheeks red and his eyes pleading. Ross adjusted his grip. Jim was thick and solid in his hand, velvet skin sliding back and forth. He was wet, clear fluid leaking from the head and making everything slick and easy, both arms thrown around Ross’ shoulders to anchor himself as he thrust up into Ross’ hand. 

When he came it was incandescent, his mouth open and his eyes locked on Ross as he shuddered in his arms and striped Ross’ chest with white. It smelled musky and thick, the scent of them mingling in the close space between them. He rested his forehead against Ross’ and tried to catch his breath. For his own part, Ross was more than ready to go again and he said as much. 

‘Good.’ Jim shoved him unceremoniously to the ground. ‘Now take your clothes off.’ 

-

By the time it was dark and Jim had lit the hurricane lanterns that were in another crate hidden at the back, Ross was pleasantly loose limbed. He was in the hammock, naked and sweaty with a similarly attired Jim wound around him like an octopus. He had his head resting on Ross’ chest, and their bare feet stuck out the end of the hammock. They had barely had any rest at all, both of them too delighted with this new development to leave the shed, apart from a few dips to cool off and wash the come from their skin. 

‘I should be going home soon.’ Ross sighed and dragged his fingers down the supple line of Jim’s back. His mouth was kissed raw and his cock was starting to feel the effects of too many rounds of mutual abuse. He’d had no idea just how much stamina both of them were possessed of, but now they were spent. Jim was soft against his thigh, one hand gently tracing idle patterns on Ross’ stomach. 

‘Ask if you can stay here tomorrow night.’ He looked up through thick gold lashes. ‘We’re only getting started.’

‘There’s more?’ Ross’s eyes widened. ‘What else could there be?’

‘I have a book.’ Jim grinned. 

‘Of course you do.’ Ross wasn’t in the least surprised. ‘Where the hell did you get it from?’

‘I found it in the library.’ Jim was shaking with laughter. ‘It’s in French so they have no idea what it is. It was being chucked out so I nabbed it.’ He rested his chin on his hand and fluttered his eyelashes at Ross. ‘I’ve learned all kinds of things.’ 

‘You’re incorrigible.’ Ross told him. ‘I can’t believe I let you talk me into things like this.’ 

Jim snorted. 

‘You wanted this.’ He sounded completely confident in the matter and Ross knew he couldn’t rebut the sentiment. 

‘I did.’ he confessed. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all term.’

Jim’s mouth quirked and then he wriggled up until he could kiss him, his mouth soft. Then he flipped himself out of the hammock, leaving Ross swearing when he got tangled up. 

‘Out you get.’ Jim was unsympathetic, laughing as he gathered his clothing. ‘I’ll walk you home, Master Poldark.’ 

He kept his promise, walking all the way to the edge of the estate before kissing Ross goodnight and turning back to go home. Ross stood on the crest of the hill and watched him, lit up by a full moon, until he disappeared from sight.


	4. 1030 Sword Beach, June 6th 1944

Ross walked through the town, looking around him. The houses were for the most part intact but further in there were more signs of the occupation. It hadn’t been as difficult to take the beach as he’d thought, with initial casualties being reported in the region of five hundred or so. The medics had been kept busy and it was in that direction he was going, both to get an idea of how bad things were and to search out his best friend, another captain in the Medical Corps who hailed from Cornwall and who was engaged to Caroline. They had met at university and he had been the one to bring them together, something he liked to remind them of on a daily basis.

The temporary medical station had set up on the ground floor of what had previously been a shop. It was crammed with people, doctors and medics in uniform, some still in their tin hats and splattered with dirt and mud. There were stretchers everywhere and Ross could hear the cries of men in the back rooms, presumably where they were conducting surgery as best they could. He scanned the shop and then grinned when he caught sight of the man he was looking for.

‘Dwight!’ He did his best to shove his way through to a tall man with light brown hair and friendly blue eyes. Dwight Enys was a village man, his father a doctor as well and his mother a stalwart of the WI. He came to meet Ross halfway, embracing him freely and looking him over.

‘You’re all right?’ he asked and Ross nodded.

‘We all got off safely.’ he replied. ‘They crew are busy helping with the disarmament.’

‘Good.’ Dwight wiped his hands on a cloth and then flung it over his shoulder. ‘We’ve had some nasty amputations from mines, sadly most of them fatal.’

Ross nodded. He was all too aware of the danger that mines and other booby traps posed to advancing troops. The Germans would not have made anything easy for them and that was also why his men were at the forefront, moving through the buildings slowly and checking every corner for thin silver lines that indicated trip wires, or taking tentative steps through gardens, roads and fields that might be thick with Tellurmines, the favoured German anti-tank armament.

‘I’m not sure when we’ll be advancing, but I imagine it will be soon.’ he told Dwight. ‘Barrymore gave an indication that he wants us out of her by lunchtime.’

‘Pity.’ Dwight’s smile was crooked. ‘I thought we might find a little bistro and have a _sole a la meuniere_.’

Ross chuckled and shook his hand.

‘Stay safe.’ he said and Dwight waved him off as an orderly came to direct him to another patient.

Outside the wind had picked up and the skies were cloudy. Ross peered at them wishing, not for the first time, that he was as adept as Jim at telling the weather. All around him soldiers were busy - bringing in supplies and artillery or running messages back and forth. Ahead of him he could see a line of soldiers moving ahead, waving their metal detectors back and forth. There was one road that lead out of the houses and towards Hermanville, their ultimate destination.

There were others weaving through the houses with the bomb squads. They were looking for something more sinister - Schü-mines - which were a bugger to detect because they were small and the main body was housed in a wooden box. Metal detectors rarely managed to pick them up and probes were just as hit and miss so dogs were used instead. Excited barking indicated that a mine had been found, allowing the demolitions experts like Donnington to move in and gently uncover it before disarming the mine. Sometimes, one of their own was laid in its place and the location plotted on a map. These countermeasures would be vital in keeping the Germans out of any territory that had been won. One such pair was in the field just past the shop Dwight was in and Ross took a moment to light a cigarette and watch the black and white Springer, his tail wagging furiously, working with his handler. His nose was to the ground and Ross smiled because it reminded him very much of the gun dogs that were kennelled at Nampara.

He found his crew at the back of what had once been the mairie. Half of the building had been blown away and their AVRE was parked at an angle. It was loaded with a small box girder bridge and they were leaning against it, enjoying a smoke and the fresh air. Carter straightened up as he approached and came to meet him halfway.

‘Sir.’ He nodded in the direction of a group of men clustered to their right. ‘Major Barrymore was looking for you.’

‘I’ll go find him then.’ Ross smiled. ‘I can report that Captain Enys is safe and up to his elbow in blood.’

‘His favourite pastime.’ Carter chuckled. ‘Shall I get everyone in?’

‘Not just yet.’ Ross replied. ‘Let me see what the Major has to say first.’ He left Carter to go back to the others, striding forward to the men and catching sight of Barrymore’s bald head among them. He was a tall rangy man, his steel blue eyes glittering with an almost manic energy when he saw Ross.

‘Poldark.’ It was accompanied by a heart slap on the shoulder. ‘Good man, knew you’d come through with no problems. I haven’t seen Holmewood yet so you’ll need to tell him I want you to take the Periers Ridge with the rest of the AVRES in support of the Hussars. Lieutenant General Crocker wants the batteries to the south of Hermanville cleared and you know the Jerries will have made the approach damn nigh impassable.’

‘Who will we be with?’ Ross asked, curious about their support.

‘The Suffolks.’ Barrymore replied. ‘You’ll be laying down suppressing fire and also making the route passable. There are bridges that will need crossing and we need to get our guns up to the ridge once it’s cleared, just in case those bastards in the Panzer division decide to come back for another go.’

‘And they are likely to.’ Ross had to admit that he had the greatest respect for the Panzers. They were not to be underestimated.

‘You’ll hopefully not take too long, but I have word that they’re stuck in pretty deeply up there.’ Barrymore’s face was stern. ‘Hillman’s a very well defended complex and it runs the firing at Morris. I don’t need to tell you how important that will be to shut down. Ryley, he’s with A Company, told us that the best way in will be from the north. That’s where I’m sending you.’

Ross knew. Hillman was the codename for a complex of bunkers known as Widerstandnest 17, although how many nobody was absolutely sure. It extended well into the ridge and the bunkers housed two command centres, if intelligence was correct. Morris was the codename for Widerstandnest 16, a huge concrete battery that housed four formidable 100mm guns that protected it as Hillman had no heavy artillery of its own.

‘A Company will be behind you.’ Barrymore continued. ‘With both of those complexes out of commission, the interior is open to us so you get that route cleared as soon as possible to give them a way in.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ross was already planning in his head. The Hussars and their tanks would provide greater firepower, where the AVREs were more for logistics and paving the way. He would need to speak to Holmewood and the other tank commanders and come up with an entry plan.

‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ Barrymore gave him a curt nod, indicating he was dismissed. ‘Good luck, Captain.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Ross saluted and watched him stride away through the mud, churned up by vehicles and tank treads. He was a good commander, a career soldier that had cut his teeth in the Somme and lived through it. He looked after his men but he was also a pragmatist and Ross appreciated that about him.

He got back to the tank to find Holmewood talking to Carter. They gave him expectant looks and Ross sighed, taking off his beret and running his hand through his hair, still a little sweat damp and curling from the light drizzle that had been falling steadily since they had cleared the beach.

‘Periers Ridge.’ he said and Carter’s eyebrows went up.

‘We’ll be bloody lucky to get out of it alive.’ Holmewood muttered. ‘They’re armed to the teeth up there.’

‘We’ll stay behind the bigger chaps once our job is done.’ Ross nodded at one of the aforementioned tanks as it rolled past. The Hussars used a Sherman Mk 4 variant, the DD or Donald Duck amphibious tank. Unlike the AVREs, these were American built and carried armaments that made them perfect for a frontal assault, with their 12 inch armour and 75mm gun and a couple of 50mm Brownings for secondary support. Ross admired the American weapons greatly and they certainly knew how to make the most of what they built. Like the AVREs they were also lighter and faster and able to traverse the deep mud of agricultural land that had taken a knocking from artillery. All of them got put under the same designation as part of Hobart’s Funnies though and it was no secret as to why. Ross knew that the other allied forces looked down on their odd variants but he knew how useful they were in a pinch and they had proven to be far more successful in a number of ways, largely providing valuable support and cover that the Yanks didn’t have. He didn’t want to think how they would be faring just down the coast.

‘Righty-ho.’ Holmewood grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. ‘The usual terms, then?’

‘Oh yes.’ Carter grinned. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing where you’re going to magic up a bottle of whiskey from over here.’

‘I have my ways.’ Holmewood winked and tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’ll see you lads later.’

He nodded goodbye and they watched him walk back to his own tank before herding the rest of their crew, still lounging on the tank.

‘Time to go.’ he announced. ‘Everybody go empty your bladders. I don't want to have to stop because you all need to piss.’

There were sniggers as they slid off the tank, moving to form a line at the side of the road to piss. There would be no time for any breaks once they were started and Ross preferred to avoid having them piss inside the tank if he could help it. For the most part, everyone was cooperative and he took his own stand next to Carter, opening his flies and taking childish pleasure at pissing into the ditch.

‘Headley!’ Carter barked. ‘Get your arse over here.’

‘No need.’ Headley examined his fingernails.

‘You will need to go.’ Jimmy glared at him over his shoulder. ‘You always do when we're on the job.’

‘Aye.’ Donnington added. ‘You’ve got the bladder of a wee lass.’

Headley gave him two fingers and headed for the AVRE. They all followed at intervals, Ross bringing up the rear as they crawled back inside through the hatches. Carter waited until everything was secure before firing up the engine and steering them off the side of the road, the AVRE tackling the slippery road with ease. Once past the line of houses, they sped up and bounced in their seats as Carter drove off the road and into fields. Ross checked through the periscope and grimaced. The field was a bog, dead cows bloated and lying in the mud. Beyond that lay more fields and trees and that was where they were headed, taking what shelter they could in the flat landscape that provided little cover.

The Hussars were waiting to let them past. There were plenty of men in support too, marching along what was left of the road to Coleville-Sur-Orne, and Ross wondered how many would still be alive once they had made their attack. The radio crackled and Carlisle exchanged words with the radioman from A Corps, listening carefully as the soldier relayed what Captain Ryley was planning and writing everything down to hand to Ross. There was a northern approach that would allow them to flank the bunker but it was surrounded by minefields and barbed wire defences, both impassable to troops on foot.

It was slower going than Ross would have liked and there was little in the way of conversation. He listened to the radio messages flying back and forth and marked their route on the map resting on his knee in pencil, tucking it behind his ear when he was finished.

‘Carter, we need to stay east of the road.’ he ordered and Carter nodded acknowledgement. The AVRE hit a ditch and there was a moment of wild seesawing before it righted itself, the treads doing their work and heaving them up the other side. They all swayed in their seats and there was a muffled protest from Jimmy behind them.

‘Sorry.’ Carter chortled and Ross exchanged grins with Carlisle. Headley leaned in from the turret compartment and glared at his fellow countryman. Behind him, Donnington was arming the fuses of the mortars and grinning.

‘Are you trying to kill us?’ Headley demanded and Carter laughed out loud this time, throwing the tank into a higher gear.

About a mile in, they drove past the village. Amazingly, there were still houses standing. They lined the road, the dull grey stone of Normandy no doubt soot streaked and ruined in places. The artillery had enough reach to pummel this place into submission as well and it had taken as much damage as the beach from what Ross could see with his limited view. The infantry line would move slower through there, the Engineers with them stopping to check for traps and clearing them. The tanks would get to their objective first and begin the arduous task of blowing the hell out of the minefields.

The town passed and they started heading into thicker growth. There was a copse ahead, a broken gate making little impediment to their progress. Carter steered them through and the land began to slope gently up. Ross checked their progress and saw how the barbed wire defences came into view against the skyline. He gave the order to halt in line with the other AVREs. From here they would bombard the minefield and create a break for the infantry troops to move through.

Even as they lurched to a stop, they could hear the sound of machine guns and Ross was thankful they were protected because if they had been on foot, they would have been completely exposed. He checked their position while Carlisle radioed in.

‘There’s a guard post about a hundred metres on bearing 186 degrees, sir.’ he told Ross and Ross nodded affirmation. He briefly checked his watch and noted the time - 13:10pm.

‘Jimmy.’ He raised his voice to be heard over the sudden noise. Even with their internal radio system, it was often difficult to hear what some was saying, regardless of the fact that they were only a foot away. ‘We need to clear that mine field first, then we can focus on the guard post.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Jimmy replied, and there was the distinctive sound of the turret turning, the vibration shaking the whole tank. Headley was working to load the ammunition, taking it from Donnington. Ross could hear them huffing at the weight of it. The first shot was loaded and Headly slammed the hatch shut.

‘Ready sir.’ he replied and Ross turned the periscope, looking for the best place to strike. There was a thick tangle of barbed wire not too far from them and he called out the range and elevation. Jimmy called the affirmative and Ross gave the order to fire. The entire tank moved with the momentum and there was a bloom of brilliant orange and the sound of a series of pops that Ross knew were mines going off.

They kept up the bombardment, too far for the machine guns to make any significant damage to their tank’s shell. Alongside them the other AVREs were doing the same, the air in front of them now thick with smoke and flaring with explosions as the mines went off every time a mortar landed. The noise was deafening and Ross shook his head to clear the ringing sound in his ears. Even with the muffling effect of the shell and their ear guards, it was still bordering on painful.

Ross lost track of time, all his focus on the job he was doing. Carlisle was busy, firing messages back and forward at lightning speed. He shoved papers at Ross every few minutes and Ross sighted the next target and ordered the gun to be reloaded and fired. In front of him Carter was also watching through the thin sight he had access to and giving advice. They worked well together, all of them components in a well oiled, albeit hot and stuffy machine.

The order to cease firing came through what proved to be a half hour later. They were to hold position and Ross heard the chatter indicating that A Company was on the move. The machine gun fire was still going and he winced at the thought of what they were walking into. He could just make out figures moving through the smoke, watching even as some fell and didn’t get back up again.

‘Poor buggers.’ Carter muttered. ‘I hope the Hussars are having a better time of it.’

Ross doubted that very much. They had broken away after Coleville-Sur-Orne to head towards Morris to provide cover fire. There the artillery would no doubt have access to anti-tank ammunition and the Shermans were not known as Ronsons for nothing. As slow as the AVREs were in comparison, Ross wouldn’t change his tank for love or money. He’d rather not be roasted alive, even if it came with better firepower and speed.

‘Fucking hell.’ Headley was grumbling. ‘I need a piss.’

‘Told you to go before we left.’ Jimmy sounded smug.

‘That he did.’ Donnington said, more to himself than anyone else.

‘Use a shell.’ Carter called back over his shoulder. There was more grumbling and then the tinny sound of urine hitting metal and the thick stench of ammonia filled the cramped space.

‘Are you bloody eating asparagus every night?’ Carlisle barked, holding his nose. ‘Because it bloody well smells like it!’

Headley sniggered loudly and moved to the aft hatch to chuck the piss into the grass. When he came back in, his face was serious.

‘It’s hairy out there.’ He leaned over Ross. ‘But it looks like most of them have gone in.’

‘Nothing for us to do but wait.’ Ross replied. They would stay in position until they were ordered to go elsewhere, the very tanks themselves providing much needed cover for the infantry.

‘Tea?’ Carter was bent over sideways, digging around next to him. He retrieved a pair of thermoses and Ross grinned.

‘It’s not going to still be warm.’ he pointed out. ‘And there’s nothing quite as disgusting as cold tea.’

‘Bollocks to that.’ Carter unscrewed the top of one thermos, the other held between his knees. ‘Where are the biscuits you bastards are hiding back there?’

‘Here.’ Carlisle was under his console. He came back out with a pack of digestives and a tin mug, passing them both across. Cater poured him some tea and took two digestives before handing them back.

‘Don’t give any to Headley.’ Jimmy said. ‘We don’t need him pissing himself. Again.’

‘Ha ha.’ Headley swung back in to give him the stink eye. ‘Wanker.’

‘Tosser.’ Jimmy retorted and Headley swung back in. He handed Ross their mugs and took the biscuits from Carlisle, passing them up to Jimmy.

‘Ta very much.’ He was beaming. It didn't take much to make Jimmy happy.

‘Don’t eat all of them.’ Ross admonished because between Jimmy and Headley, they could all be eaten out of house and home. He waited patiently for Carter to fill their mugs and then swapped them for his, passing them back over his shoulder.

They sipped and munched in the respite. Ross had learned to take pleasure in the small moments and he savoured the lukewarm tea, dunking his biscuits and then draining the mug. The Yanks were always laughing at them with their tea and biscuits and knitted gloves, the fruit cake sent by devoted nannas. Ross liked to believe that it made for a better crew, not one that spent their time arguing or whipping themselves up into a frenzy.

‘I bet Jerry’s spitting that they got up this morning.’ Jimmy was obviously looking through his sight. ‘I think they’re getting a bit of a hiding.’

‘Better them than us.’ Carter offered Ross a refill but he shook his head. He poured himself another mug and drank it quickly. They had all learned to eat and drink on the fly.

The radio crackled and Carlisle got that intent look on his face that told Ross something important was coming through.

‘Bad news, sir.’ he said. ‘A Company is taking heavy fire. They’re retreating.’ His mouth turned down. ‘Sounds like Ryley went for a Burton. They’re calling up the Hussars.’

Ross felt a momentary twinge, then shrugged it off.

‘Orders?’ he asked and Carlisle held up a finger.

‘Fall back to re-arm.’ He frowned. ‘Then attack the eastern flank. They’re going for a second wave.’

‘Very good.’ Ross drained his mug. ‘Carter. Take us back.’

The tank rumbled to life and Carter ground the gears. They all flinched at the noise and Headley gave a martyred sigh.

‘You know I have to bloody fix that when you fuck it up.’ he told Carter, who snorted.

‘I do the driving.’ He was backing them out of the line, the other ARVEs starting to move as well. ‘You do the loading.’

‘I also do the driving.’ Headley retorted. ‘And you still grind the bloody gears.’

Ross chuckled, redrawing their movements on his map. They bickered like small children but he wouldn’t change any of them. He consulted his map and then made a decision. The supply line would be about half a mile back and they could stock up on their mortars and maybe grab a bite to eat.

‘They’re coming in.’ Carter remarked and steered the tank to the left and then stopped. Ross knew from experience that Carter had brought them into line with the others, forming a protective curve to shield the retreating men. There was the sound of machine gun fire building up again and the tinkle of bullets hitting the shell. Unlike the Hussars, they had no other heavy artillery.

‘I need you on the gun.’ Ross said and Headley moved to take up his position at their own, a 7.92 mm Besa machine gun. He shot steadily, the belt running through the gun in a series of bursts. It wasn’t much, but it would give some relief to the men trying to come back through the minefield.

‘So much bloody noise.’ Donnington had his fingers in his ears. He wasn’t as inured to the low level growl of the tank and Ross smiled to himself. He was pretty sure he was going to be deaf by the end of the war. Jim already teased him about getting an ear trumpet.

The lines of men streaming past thinned out and eventually slowed to nothing but a trickle. Once they were past them, Carter steered the AVRE back out and they went back the way they had come. As expected the supply trucks were not that far behind them and there was a brief stop to get more mortars on board. Jimmy and Headley had the turret hatch open and were passing the mortars back down to Carlisle and Donnington. Ross took the opportunity to open the front hatch and take a look around. He could hear the sound of artillery and see the tracers lighting up the sky to the west of Colville-Sur-Orne.

An AVRE drew up next to them and Holmewood’s head popped up out the front hatch.

‘Hello there.’ His face was grimed with sweat and dirt from the tank’s interior. ‘That was a bit of fun. I sincerely hope it’s as easy on the other side.’

‘Easy for us perhaps.’ Ross nodded at the line of retreating men. ‘Not so much for them.’

‘Actually casualties were light.’ Holmewood said. ‘Boxer said that we’re well under double figures. Pity about Ryley though. He was a good man.’

‘The Hussars sound like they’re getting it good and proper.’ Jimmy had his elbows resting on the turret’s edge. Ross turned and looked to where Morris was and made a face.

‘They’ve got bigger guns through.’ Harris, Holmewood’s gunner, was also hanging out his turret, his freckled face creased up as he squinted at the sky.

‘Don’t help much if they hit you with an anti-tank round.’ Jimmy said sagely and Ross wondered just how much was left of the young man who’d set out from Cornwall to join up when he was only seventeen.

‘Say, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra belt or two?’ Holmewood asked the corporal that was handing up their ammunition. He muttered something to a passing private and the man jogged off in the direction of a truck.

‘I could do with a few myself.’ Ross mused and then thought better of it. The tank was crammed full as it was. Better to have some extra mortars.

Once the reloading was finished, Holmewood turned his face into the breeze and sniffed.

‘Nothing like the smell of battle.’ he declared expansively, lowering himself back into the tank. ‘Toodle-oo.’

Ross sighed. He had long held the belief that the true aristocrats, those that had an actual place in the succession like Holmewood, were more than a little touched. Thankfully Holmewood was only 157th in line to the throne and not in any danger of actually ruling the country. He came back in as well, slamming the hatch shut. Carter gave him a grin.

‘He’s barmy as usual.’ Ross said by way of explanation and Carter chuckled, then threw the tank into gear. There was a yelp from above as Jimmy had obviously been caught off guard.

‘Get your bloody head back in, lad.’ Donnington scolded him. ‘Don’t want it being shot off.’

‘Boy’s got the sense of a chicken.’ Headley sniggered, followed by the sound of a scuffle. Ross rolled his eyes and took their new orders from Carlisle, who was trying to stifle his laughter and making a sound like steam escaping as a result.

‘Carter, take us due east.’ he ordered.

‘Yes, sir.’ Carter replied and the tank lurched, making them all fall sideways.


	5. Plymouth, 1939

Ross grumbled as he dodged puddles. It was Easter and the weather was as wet as the bottom of a boat and he had left his umbrella on the train and he didn’t know Plymouth and the hotel he was headed for didn’t look particularly promising. He finally managed to get into the lobby, the carpet a disastrously eye watering paisley, and skirted around a group of chattering young women to get to the reception desk where a scrawny man with a comb over raised an eyebrow at him. 

‘Name?’ he barked and Ross straightened up and gave him his haughtiest look. 

‘Poldark.’ he replied and the man dithered over the large register in front of him and then turned to get a key. 

‘Towels are extra.’ he muttered. Ross handed over an extra shilling and then headed for the stairs. The lift looked and sounded like it dated from the Edwardian period and he didn’t want to chance getting stuck, not when he had such grand plans for the evening. He jogged up the stairs, his valise gripped tightly by the somewhat tricky handle. Plymouth was not particularly well known for its holiday trade, in spite of its proximity to the water. It did have a small sailing community, but right now it was a hub of activity as home to HMNB Devenport and HMS Drake, the naval barracks that was currently home to one young sailor that Ross was very keen to see. 

The world had changed so drastically in the past year with Britain getting closer and closer to declaring war. Joshua had been going absolutely spare over Christmas when Ross was home. It was clear to everyone that this was not something that was going away and all the talk at Oxford was about the occupations in Europe and the possibility that Britain and her allies would be taking the fight to Hitler very very soon. It was accompanied by talk of a national conscription and Ross knew already that he would probably do so. Joshua had fought in the Great War, as had Charles, and they had come through with commendations. Even though Joshua abhorred the idea of Ross suffering the same trials as himself, he had already said that he wouldn’t stand in his way. 

Jim had decided early on that he would volunteer. He disliked the idea of conscription and being unable to choose where he was sent, and so when the call had gone out at the beginning of the year, he’d packed himself off to Plymouth and joined the Royal Navy. They did not promote based on social standing, unlike the other branches of the armed forces, and Jim’s extensive experience handling boats and his knowledge of the weather had seen him put into officer cadet training pretty quickly. He’d been gone since the previous October, a huge gap in Ross’ festive season that had seen him being grumpy and morose for most of it. Now his training was almost complete and he was allowed off base for shore leave, which was precisely why Ross had made the detour on his way back to Nampara. Jim was only allowed out for forty-eight hours and then he would be setting off on his first voyage and was terribly excited, if his letters were anything to go by.   
The room was on the second floor, overlooking the street. Ross smirked when he saw the two single beds. He and Jim were used to making do with what they had and he set his valise on the bed closest to the door and thought about the last summer they had spent together, almost every waking moment stealing time in barns and the shack on the beach or in hedgerows. It was what every young country lover did, although ironically it was easier for them to get time alone because no-one suspected what they were getting up to. 

He hummed as he checked the bathroom, giving himself a once over in the mirror. He wasn’t vain by nature, but he was aware of wanting to look good when he saw Jim. He ran a hand through his hair, a little unruly after a term at Oxford and the liberty to do what he wished without a house master breathing down his neck at every turn, and hoped that he was appropriately dressed. Every second man in Plymouth was in uniform and Ross felt a little out of place in his looser trousers and oxfords, even if they were mirror shined. 

He headed back downstairs, nose wrinkling at the waft of cabbage from what he presumed was the dining room. He thought of hearty pub food and neatly evaded an elderly couple coming in. The rain had stopped for a moment and he dashed along the street, heading in the direction Jim had told him. It wasn’t too difficult to find the pub, the sign painted a deep blue with one bright star proclaiming its name. Jim had told him it was popular with the ‘middies’ or midshipmen, officers in training. 

Ross pushed through the glazed doors into the Public Bar with their brightly polished brass handles and surveyed the interior. The floors were well-scrubbed hardwood and the tables looked rather rough hewn but it seemed congenial enough. There were plenty of punters, most of them in uniform, and he moved through the crowd towards the bar, using his height to peer above the heads and find the ones he was looking for. He was just about to give up when he heard someone laughing and it made his stomach swoop. He started smiling, unable to help himself as he homed in on Jim like a pigeon with its roost, coming to stand behind him. He was in a small back alcove with two others, a taller young man with sandy hair and sharp green eyes and the other shorter and more compact, black haired and with eyes that were the oddest shade of silvery grey. 

It was he who nodded behind Jim and smirked. 

‘You have a gentleman caller.’ His eyes sparkled with mischief and Ross laughed. He felt like he knew these two as well as he knew any of his own friends, having heard all about them from Jim’s letters. 

‘You must be Will.’ He held out a hand and the dark haired young man half stood to shake it. 

‘And you must be Ross.’ he replied. ‘This is Jack.’ He nodded to his companion who saluted Ross with his half-finished pint. ‘And of course, you know Jim.’

Very well, indeed.’ Ross turned to see Jim beaming at him, his blue-green eyes bright and happy and the dimples he adored on full display. They were all dressed in their dark blue uniforms - the double breasted coat with the two rows of brass buttons, trousers of the same, white shirts and black ties. Being midshipmen, they had only the collar insignia to denote their rank and not the distinctive gold braiding of some of the other men in the pub. 

‘You’re early.’ Jim said, getting up and taking Ross’ coat from him. He chucked it over the back of the bench and moved past him, one hand discreetly settling on Ross’ hip in a possessive gesture that always made Ross feel like a blushing maiden. 

‘I managed to escape and get the 6.20 from Paddington.’ Ross explained. 

‘Well, I’m glad.’ Jim looked to the others. ‘Another round, lads?’

‘Aye.’ Jack had a soft voice and a north Devon accent. ‘And some crisps.’

‘Let me help you.’ Ross moved into Jim’s space, their eyes meeting. He felt at ease here, far from everyone that knew them. Jim had assured him that Will and Jack would bear no ill will for they were similarly embroiled, and their circumstances mirrored his and Jim’s rather closely. It was still forbidden to be homosexual and serve in His Majesty’s forces so nobody let slip anything, but the Navy had traditions and this was well known to be one of them.

They went to the bar, a long straight line of solid wood with scattered sawdust littered with match ends and cigarette packets to catch the drips and Jim edged his way on. He ordered four pints of bitter and asked after a meal. The landlord was a thin hawk-faced man with shiny hair plastered into a middle parting and wearing the traditional waistcoat and long apron. He poured their drinks, elucidating on the quality of his brews for a couple of officers that Jim nodded at. Ross took two of the glasses and Jim took the others, tucking four greaseproof packets of crisps under his arms. 

Back at the table, Preston offered them a cigarette while they offloaded and Ross happily accepted. Jack busied himself with ripping open the packets and seasoning them using the little twists of alt inside. Ross settled in next to Jim and smiled when Jim rested his knee against his own. He also took a cigarette and lit it from a box of matches, doing the same for Ross and Will. 

‘Jim tells us you’re also from Cornwall.’ Will said, his eyes appraising Ross from top to bottom. Unlike Jack, his accent was cut glass and Ross felt himself growing curious as to their association. 

‘I am.’ he replied. ‘My family owns the estate that Jim’s lighthouse is on.’ 

‘My lighthouse?’ Jim grinned at him. ‘I think that’s a tad premature.’ 

‘It will be.’ Ross replied. He looked at Will. ‘You’re from Devon, I hear.’ 

‘My family seat is Morwell House, just outside Watchet.’ Will took a sip of his beer. ‘Which school?’

‘Harrow.’ Ross replied, seeing the approval in Will’s face. ‘You?’ 

‘Marlborough. I’m Special Entry.’ Will’s smile was just as considering. ‘At least you’re not Eton. I cannot tolerate those weak chinned Tories.’ 

‘That’s a very interesting attitude to take.’ Ross decided he liked Will. 

‘My father has distinctly socialist leanings.’ Will tapped the ash off his cigarette. ‘He’s been widely accused of being a communist but then again, people of the upper classes are rarely educated enough to distinguish between the two.’ 

‘You’d like my father then.’ Ross laughed. ‘He causes many a scandal with his views.’ 

‘Oh ye Gods.’ Jack was looking between them. ‘There’s two of them.’ 

‘I did warn you.’ Jim was watching them with great interest. ‘This should prove to be a most entertaining evening.’

-

It did turn out that way.

Several hours passed and they got progressively drunker. The bitter was excellent and Ross was hanging on every word that was being said. Jim had so many anecdotes about the service, and Will was an equally excellent storyteller. Jack said little, but he did snort often into his pint when they regaled Ross with something that sounded particularly outrageous. The day to day workings of the training school were fascinating to Ross. He pressed Jack in particular, being a Engineering cadet who would be bound for the engine room of any ship he served on. 

‘We’re lucky.’ he told Ross. ‘The Dragon has been refitted so she’s top notch now.’ 

Ross had his chin in his hand, pleasantly tipsy and enthralled as Jack described the Dragon’s engines. She was a Danae class cruiser, something they were all delighted to be aboard. Jim was particularly glad they had all been assigned to the same vessel and Ross felt reassured to know he had good friends he would be serving with. 

‘She’s an older ship.’ Will leaned back, his arm along the bench. ‘But she makes 27 knots and she’s armed to the teeth. We’ve got torpedo tubes and MkVIIs which will keep the U-Boats on their toes, so to speak.’ 

Ross had read enough stories of the German forces and the dreaded U-Boats were always a subject that demanded respect. 

‘When will you be stationed?’ he asked and Jim shrugged, tearing the empty crisp wrapping into tiny shreds, showing he was not quite at ease as he was professing to be. 

‘She’s currently anchored in the Nore.’ he said. ‘Once we are done here, we’ll get on a train and head to London.’ 

‘That sounds rather close.’ Ross frowned. He knew the Channel was currently a hot spot for all kinds of activities that could well be dangerous to a British sailor. 

‘It’s still a Reserve Force.’ Jim rested his hand on Ross’ knee. ‘We will just be patrolling with no direct engagement. We’ll be perfectly safe.’

‘For now.’ Ross glowered. ‘But what happens if war really breaks out.’ 

‘Then you’ll be in it as much as I will.’ Jim pointed out. ‘And if you follow your father and uncle, you’ll be in far closer quarters.’ 

Ross considered this. His father and uncle had both been port of the Royal Engineers. Joshua had fought with the BEF right at the beginning of the Somme and lived to tell the tale, although most of his friends from school and Oxford had not. 

‘I suppose you’re right.’ he replied. ‘I do worry though.’ He was too drunk to bother concealing it either and he noticed that Will and Jack were looking at him with sympathetic eyes. 

‘You could always join up with the service.’ Jack offered. ‘Come sail the seven seas.’

‘Ross is a decent sailor in fine weather and on shallow seas.’ Jim smiled at him fondly. ‘But he doesn’t fare well with anything too rough.’ 

It was true enough and Ross smiled ruefully at them all. 

‘He’s right. I am liable to be useless if the wind goes over anything more than a light breeze.’ He took out his cigarettes, offering them around. ‘Jim’s the one that can walk a deck in a full gale without flinching.’ 

‘That’s why I like being in engineering.’ Jack chuckled. ‘Safe and warm and out of the weather.’

‘You miss all the fun that way.’ Will elbowed him gently. He sighed and checked his watch. ‘I think we all need sustenance. The hotel does a fine steak pie and if we hurry, we’ll make it in time for dinner.’

‘All I smelled was cabbage.’ Ross rumbled. ‘It was like being at school.’ 

‘Trust us.’ Jim smiled as he stood and tugged on Ross’ sleeve. ‘The food tastes a lot better than it smells.’ 

They ambled back to the hotel and Ross leaned into Jim, content to simply be in his company.

‘I misses you.’ He said it softly so as not to be overheard. ‘Christmas was not the same.’ 

‘I know.’ Jim’s sidelong smile was warm and affectionate. ‘I will say that the Drake has some rather interesting New Year’s customs. They might even be a match for wassailing.’ 

‘You’ll have to enlighten me.’ Ross stepped through the door being held open by Jack. Inside the brightly lit lobby he could admire Jim a little better, noting how smart he looked. Jim caught his eye and went pink in the cheeks, taking off his officer’s cap and running a hand through his dark blond hair, now cut regulation short. 

‘Stop it.’ He tried to sound stern but Ross knew he was pleased. 

‘Shan’t.’ he retorted and let Jim steer him to the dining room. A sweet middle aged waitress took their order and bustled off, coming back in quick order with more beer and four servings of steak and kidney pie, thick cut chip and peas swimming in butter. 

Ross inhaled the aromas happily and ate with gusto. The others were just as keen and there was little conversation until their plates were empty and cleared away and their post dinner cigarettes lit. 

‘I’m ready for a kip.’ Jack stifled a yawn and Ross checked the time. He was astonished to see it was after eight already. He was starting to feel tired himself, a full belly and more alcohol than he normally consumed resulting in his own eyes starting to droop. 

‘I think that’s a fine idea.’ Will got up and helped him to his feet. ‘Back here tomorrow morning? We can give Ross the grand tour.’

‘Aye.’ Jim nodded, one eye half closed against the smoke drifting up from the cigarette between his teeth. Will and Jack said goodnight and left arm in arm and swaying slightly. Ross waited until they were out of sight and then raised an eyebrow at Jim. 

‘They’re a right pair.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and Jim grinned and nodded. 

‘They’re good souls.’ he replied. ‘I’m glad to be in with them.’

‘I’m glad to be in with you.’ Ross prodded him with one finger. ‘But I feel like we need to take this upstairs.’ 

‘Whatever for?’ Jim asked but his eyes were twinkling. ‘I’m not a bit sleepy.’ 

‘Sleep is the last thing I wish to contemplate.’ Ross dropped his voice. They were the last in the dining room but one could never be too careful. ‘I haven’t seen you for six bloody months.’ 

‘Oh?’ Jim arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Then I suppose we should leave and go to bed.’ He managed to make the simple phrase sound unbearably filthy and Ross all but leaped from his chair, chivvying Jim along like he was an errant sheep and Ross the collie with one thing in mind. 

They ran up the stairs, laughing and having to stop and behave every time they encountered someone before finally stumbling breathless through the door to their room. Then it was a frantic race to discard their coats, although Ross did not with amusement how carefully Jim hung his up before he was being kissed to within an inch of his life. For someone so short, Jim was more than capable of manhandling him should the need arise. 

‘Get your bloody clothes off.’ Jim shoved Ross back so he fell onto the bed, yelping when he landed on his valise and the handle stabbed him in the back. He watched shamelessly as Jim got his tie undone and then hopped on one foot after the other while he wrestled his shoes and socks off. 

‘I think I’d rather just watch you.’ he smirked, sitting up and shoving the valise to the floor before rooting around in it for the small metal tube that landed somewhere in the vicinity of the pillow. The realities of intimacy between men had eluded them until Jim had asked a few pertinent questions and been given pointers than had seen both him and Silver terribly embarrassed but it had served its purpose. Once he and Jim had jumped that first hurdle during that very memorable summer, they had endeavoured to try everything they possibly could. 

‘You’re daydreaming.’ Jim said. Ross blinked, realising he was now down to his underwear. He sighed happily and took him in. Jim was compact and solid, built for the sailing and the labour of manning a lighthouse. He was still smooth chested, although his stomach was now lightly furred and Ross reached for him, dragging his fingers through the light dusting of hair. Jim snorted and petted his curls, scratching idly at the back of Ross’ neck and making his eyes think like a cat. 

He leaned his head against Jim, the warmth of his body seeping into Ross and settling in his chest. He felt so very content when they were together and he basked in it, knowing that it may well be the last time for a while they would get to be like this. 

‘Stop it.’ Jim’s voice was gentle but the hand that fisted in Ross’ hair was strong, tipping his head back so he was forced to meet Jim’s eyes. ‘I can hear you thinking.’

‘I worry.’ Ross couldn’t stop his voice from breaking just a little. ‘I know that you are perfectly capable of looking after yourself, but then I read about what the Germans are doing and I…’ He was cut off by Jim taking his face in his hands and kissing him fiercely. 

Ross fell into it, the bitter taste of cigarettes and coffee on Jim’s tongue grounding him as he caught him around the waist and pulled him close. They stayed like that, trading kisses until they were both hard with it and breathing noisily through their noses. JIm’s hands dropped to Ross’ shirt, working on the buttons until it was open and he could push it off Ross’ shoulders. He twisted obligingly, throwing it aside and shifting up the bed as Jim crawled over him, settling onto Ross and pinning his wrists over his head, dragging his tongue up the side of Ross’ neck. 

‘You or me?’ he breathed in Ross’ ear and Ross had to squeeze his eyes shut, his cock already wet just from thinking about what they were about to do. 

‘Me.’ he replied and Jim sat up and got to work on his trousers. Ross lay there and let him, happy to be a passive partner. He adored getting fuck, the harder the better, and Jim seemed in a mood to do his worst. They traded places as often as they did it, but tonight he wanted to feel it, the realness of Ji inside him and over him and making him feel like they were immortal. He lifted his hips and let Jim pull his trouser and underwear off, his cock smacking back against his stomach. He was much hairier, his stomach and chest already thick with black even though he was not yet twenty. 

Jim smiled at him and shuffled down the bed, a wicked glint in his eye. He held Ross’ gaze even as he leaned down, pink tongue flicking out to catch the gleam of wetness at the head of Ross’ cock. Ross moaned loudly, completely lost to it already. Jim’s wicked tongue was skilled in more than just languages and Ross stretched and clawed at the wooden headboard as Jim sank down, taking him in to the hilt. 

He took his time, his head bobbing up and down with the predictable slowness of a metronome and Ross tipped his head back, biting his lip to keep from being too noisy. They usually had the luxury of no-one around and they could both be as vocal as they chose, but here he was reminded that there were most likely people on both sides of them. A scratching noise alerted him to what Jim was doing. Ever keen to get things started, he had grabbed the tube and was busy with it. His fingers came back slick and cold and Ross hissed through his teeth and gave him a baleful look. Jim pulled off and grinned, completely unrepentant especially when he eased one finger in and Ross was right back to being insensible again. He spread his legs shamelessly, jerking when Jim hit just the right spot inside him and bowing off the bed when he took him back in, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to drive Ross to the edge quicker than he could count to three. He shoved one wrist in his mouth, gritting out a strangled noise when Jim flicked his tongue in one particular place and coming hard enough to see stars. Jim kept him still, hands pressing him down as he wallowed around Ross’ cock so it came out clean when he lifted his head. His fingers slowed but didn’t slop and Ross knew he was in for a long evening if the gleam in Jim’s eye was anything to go buy. 

‘Come on.’ His voice came out thick, the aftereffects of his climax making his actions louche. ‘Are you going to take me or do I have to do it myself?’

Jim’s eyebrow went up and the next thing Ross knew, his fingers were gone and he was pushing in, Ross’ long legs thrown over his broad shoulders and his thick cock breaching him in the most delicious way. It burned going in, just the right side of too much and Jim didn’t stop, not until they were pressed flush against each other and he was leaning right over Ross, hands braced either side of him and his light eyes intense. Ross looked back at him, knowing his own would be dark with all the pent up want that six months apart brought and he shifted to hook both heels at the small of Jim’s back, pulling him in closer until their mouths were but an inch apart. 

‘Hard.’ he breathed. ‘Make me feel it.’ 

‘Ross…’ Jim fell onto him, his mouth bruising and one hand coming to catch a handful of Ross hair, yanking his head back as he eased back and then thrust in forcefully, driving as deep as he could get and muffling Ross’ cries with his tongue. He kept the pace brutal, slow out and hard in, and the friction between them grew slick with sweat. Ross reached up, dragging his nails down Jim’s back and feeling the play of muscles as he moved, sucking on Ross’ tongue and hammering each thrust home with deadly accuracy. Ross gave up all pretense of control, writhing underneath him and panting harsh breaths when Jim let him come up for air. His blond hair was in his eyes and he was gleaming with sweat, an angel brought to life in Ross’ arms. His movements grew erratic, and Ross licked at his mouth. 

‘Do it. Inside me’ He bit Jim’s full lower lip, pulling on it. Jim whined and went still, shuddering through his own climax like a spent horse until he flopped own, squashing all the air out of Ross. He poked Jim in the ribs and got a grunt in reply, Jim’s face in his neck. 

Ross smiled and wrapped both arms around him. 

‘Are you planning on going to sleep like this?’ he asked, wriggling because his own cock was hard again and the friction too wonderful to resist. Jim’s muscled stomach made a wonderful surface to rub off against. 

‘Maybe.’ Jim’s voice was muffled. ‘Give me a minute. I think I may have broken something.’ 

Ross snickered and kissed his cheek. 

‘You’ve got two minutes before I start without you.’ he replied.


	6. D Day, June 6th 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry dudes, this week completely punted my mental health into the toilet. And I was doing so well :)

_North Atlantic_

The bosun’s whistle for the change of watch came a few moments after Jim woke up. He’d gotten particularly good at regulating his sleep and the tension and shortened watches for active duty meant he was alert almost all the time, waking at the slightest noise.

He sat up, ducking his head as he slid from his bunk. The junior officers all slept in a cramped cabin, each bunk shared by three men. Jim often felt he would have preferred to be among the sailors, preferring the relative comfort of a hammock to the constriction of his wooden box bunk. At least here his shortness was a distinct advantage and he felt for the taller of his shipmates. He eased between them, washbag in hand and towel over his bare shoulder. It was hot inside the hull and their cabin was right up against it and below the water line so it was sweltering. He took a two minute shower, pissing down the drain at the same time and then doing a cursory dry off before he shaved. Dressing was tricky as his bunkmates got up and did the same, preparing for their watch.

By the time Jim was dressed, his stomach was rumbling. He headed for the officer’s mess, helping himself to a breakfast of powdered scrambled eggs, bacon and toast with jam. The tea was scalding and strong enough to strip paint but it woke him up well enough and he ate quickly with little conversation. His next four hour watch would be down in the ASDIC room, right at the bottom of the ship’s bow where he would oversee the operators that searched the depths beneath them for their enemies. It was a tricky place to be, fore of the water tanks but also of the ammunition magazine. Jim had been taught that should his ship be torpedoed, the chances of him making it out alive were slim while he was down there.

It was something he never told Ross.

He moved through the ship’s underbelly, deftly navigating his way until he got to the room, stepping inside and saluting the officer on duty. There was a brief handover and Jim blinked to adjust his eyes to the red light inside, the three operators hunched over their terminals, listening intently. He got set up, putting on his chest set - headphones and a microphone - with one earpiece tuned to the ASDIC to monitor the contacts and the other to the bridge. There was a long cord that allowed him to move freely between the bench and the plotting table.

This was where Jim had started before he’d been made a lieutenant, leaving the relative ease of officer’s training at Plymouth to transfer to Halifax and the anti-submarine school. He had learned the intricacies of being an S.D. or submarine detector, attuning his ears to the sound of the ocean and learning to differentiate between vessels and what was allied or enemy or commercial based on their propeller sounds and number of rotations per minute. Now as an H.S.D., he watched his men work, some of them barely sixteen and more fresh faced than he’d been when he joined the service. If they faltered or were unsure, Jim would step in and confirm whether they had a viable contact and needed to notify the bridge, or whether it was a false hit and able to be ignored.

If they got a contact that was worth tracking, Captain Sellar would set the ship on a course to intercept, using both guns and depth charges to destroy the u-boat if they caught it. It could be tricky. The U Boat captains were skilled at evading both ships and planes and a hunt could last for many hours and end in nothing if the submarine managed to slip away. It wasn’t unusual either for one to play decoy and divert an escort ship, allowing others to sneak in and torpedo the convoy. Jim had seen what happened when that occurred and he would do everything in his power to prevent it.

The ASDIC required his undivided attention and he switched into the calm state of mind that he affected while on duty. In front of him, his two operators worked while a third sat at the desk on the left. The last was on standby, able to switch in if needed but currently working with the chart and the plotting table, also known simply as The Plot. The room itself was small and cramped with a bench that allowed for three operators during Action Stations. The man on the left read out bearings if they came across a target. The middle operator was on operation of the training control, raising and lowering the dome that housed the ASDIC system underneath the ship and the right hand operator worked the range finder, with the voice pipe between them. All three were vital to successfully hunting a u-boat and it was Jim’s job to make sure they worked in harmony, and relay the information they fed him to the bridge and the ensuing orders back to them. They were a tight knit team, devoted to what they were doing and when nightfall came the real trouble would start. Jim would repeat this several times during a twenty-four hour period, often sleeping in the ASDIC itself when it got dark. The u-boats hunted best then, barely detectable in the black water. He wasn’t alone in this. Sellar had a gyro fitted in his cabin, the same system as in the ASDIC, and when it pinged he would be up and running for the bridge, regardless of the time or whether he was off watch. It was one of the reasons the Cormorant had been so successful as a hunter.

JIm moved into his regular position, listening intently to the relay of messages. There was little in the way of conversation, with him using a light touch on the shoulder to get his operators’ attention. Daylight would be quiet but nobody could afford to be sloppy.

-

_Periers Ridge_

Ross leaped down from the tank, landing nimbly in spite of the mud and churned up ground. It was a morass, the thick clay soil sticking to everything and the air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of spent ammunition. Carter was right behind him, the rest of the crew getting out to stretch their legs but sticking close. They would smoke and take a piss and when Ross returned they would begin the long job of going through every inch of the compound for booby traps.

The bunkers were taken, every German inside either dead or being led under the watchful eye of allied troops. The Canadians had caught up with them, coming inland from Juno and Gold. There was a big push through to Caen but they were still meeting some strong resistance in pockets that the Germans were defending fiercely. This would no doubt carry on through the night and many of the AVREs that had come ashore with them would be out front to deploy their mobile bridges and lay down tracks for vehicles to cross.

‘Ross!’ It was Holmewood, jogging across the ground with another of the commanders to stay behind to help with the clear out. Edgeware was small and spare and had a thin moustache and bore a remarkable resemblance to the redoutable Monty, who Holmewood had told them was a distant cousin.

‘Go scare up some scran and a place to bunk up.’ he said to Carter, who nodded and carried on walking towards the supply line. Ross waited for the other two and they all fell into step together.

‘That was hairy.’ Holmewood was grinning. He was right. The second wave going in to Periers had been far more difficult than the first, but once they had managed to overtake the guns, it had been fighting in close quarters, leaving them to guard the perimeter.

‘Who’s in command?’ Ross asked and Edgeware nodded at the group of officers huddled over a map in the makeshift HQ. The engineers had been busy and there were already communications cables and radios set up. The men working them would be in contact with similarly HQs up and down the coast, all of the allied forces moving inland to clear the coastal defences in preparation for more troops to land in waves.

‘Crocker’s in charge but Rennie’s looking after the 3rd.’ he said and Ross grinned. He had fought under Rennie before in North Africa and liked him immensely. A Highlander by birth, Rennie wore his tam o’shanter instead of a beret, a Major-General in the Black Watch and was well known for his daring escape from being taken prisoner after the Battle of France in 1940. He was a fighter by nature, never one to sit back and send his men in front of him and Ross could appreciate someone like that.

They got to the group of men and listened as Rennie talked through the plan for Caen, which he would be directing. Ross listened with half an ear, glancing up at the darkening sky and wondering just where Jim might be as the first day of Operation Overlord drew to a close.

-

_North Atlantic_

Jim couldn’t sleep after his last watch so he’d ended up in the mess, reading and drinking coffee to try and keep himself alert. It was close on six o’clock in the evening and he knew that it would be dark up top, the sea turning to a gleaming black swell that would glitter in the moonlight. The night before had been a full moon, chosen because it would ensure a low but rising tide for the beach landings. He’d had to explain it to Ross, who’d been fascinated by the information. It was also beneficial for them, making it a little easier to spot a surfacing u-boat in the water, although this would also no doubt be something the u-boats would try to avoid doing, staying submerged until their air was on the verge of running out.

He looked at his watch, dragging a hand over his face and sighing. This would be his third watch in the ASDIC hut, the mental fatigue starting to kick in. It was a brutal job, the constant in and out of two hours on and two hours off.

‘Jim.’ It was Will, looking equally tired. He was stationed up on the mid deck, overseeing the crews that would launch the depth charges and his one watches were just as exhausting. Jack had it a bit better, being four hours on and eight hours off in the engine room. Jim wasn’t sure that he would prefer it though. It was notoriously hot down there and the stink of oil and grease would have been too much for him. He missed the purity of a simple sailboat, the wind driving them forward and the bow kissing the waves as it bobbed along.

‘It’s going to be a long night.’ he remarked, marking the place in his book with a leather bookmark. It was particularly fine, embossed with his initials and a Christmas gift from Ross that had arrived in the post his first Christmas in Plymouth and away from them all.

‘What are you reading?’ Will sat down heavily, dragging a hand through his thick black hair. He yawned expansively and took the book from Jim. ‘Herodotus?’

‘It passes the time.’ Jim smiled. He had a great affection for that book, although it had been tricky to learn the ancient Greek he needed in order to read the copy that Joshua had given him. Almost every book in his little alcove was from the Poldarks and his fathers, gifts or copies that made their way to him when they were read. Jim didn’t discriminate in literature. This one, however, was his own, inscribed in Joshua’s bold hand.

‘I have a feeling.’ Will drank from his own cup of coffee.

‘Not a good one, I take it.’ Jim frowned. Will’s feelings were scarily accurate.

‘I think we may have trouble tonight.’ Will replied, his mouth set in a stern line. ‘I hope all your ears are in fine working order.’

‘And I hope your crews are the same.’ Jim replied. ‘They’re the ones that kill the bastards.’

‘Here’s to a successful watch then.’ Will lifted his mug and Jim clinked his against it and rained the contents.

‘I’m off.’ He got up. ‘Good hunting.’

‘Good hunting.’ Will tipped him a salute and went back to his coffee.

The hut was in silence at the changeover, the tiredness affecting all of them so that pleasantries were considered superfluous. The other officer murmured a few words and Jim made notes before taking the chest set. The ship was moving relatively quickly, probably cruising at just under eighteen knots. At speeds greater than this, the ASDIC became far less effective with noise from water moving past the hull obscuring good contacts. The dome itself was also filled with water to try and minimise the effect and conduct sound better but it still had working limits. Jim could recite the technical settings of the transmitter off by heart - a speed of eighteen knots, the range set to two thousand meters yards and the first sweep from thirty degrees to five degrees past the bow, Red. The next would be the same but for Green. The sweeps were repeated, the transmitter stopped every five degrees to fire off a ‘ping’ or sound wave. It would travel through the water and bounce back if it hit anything. Any contacts would be heard by the operator and the echo would be recorded and converted into an electrical impulse, marking the roll of paper on the training control to be interpreted by the operator and also to keep a record of the contacts they intercepted.

Should the contact be a u-boat, the information would be relayed to the bridge and the ship would immediately turn in the direction of the contact to give chase. This was the most perilous part of the hunt, as the convergence of the outgoing ping and the returning echo grew greater as the range decreased. Depth charges could only be launched once the ship was over the target and many a u-boat evaded capture by using evasive maneuvers or diving out of range.

Time passed differently down here in the red light. Jim moved on autopilot - terminal bench, Plot and back again. His operators on this watch were experienced and good at what they did. The better and more reliable men were always assigned at night. Gunn, Allerdyce and Anderson were on the bench with Livesay at the Plot. They were all completely focused on the sweep, the beeps indicating the pings the only sound to interrupt the quiet, apart from Gunn’s occasional sniffle, the result of a light cold.

JIm knew from the bridge that they were in front of the convoy, travelling about five nautical miles ahead, along with the Blackbird and Hydrangea. The Primrose and Belladonna were no doubt flanking them a few miles back before the second group formed part of the central escort. The third group would be at the rear, but all of them would be hunting.

The first hour passed with nothing of note to report. Gunn got a little excited over a contact that sounded louder than the average shoal of fish but Jim listened when Gunn turned his head and then shook his own.

‘Listen again.’ he said softly and watched as Gunn did, his face fierce in its concentration. Jim knew this sound well. He’d been a little obsessed with being able to identify the creatures that shared the ocean with his ship and down here below the water line he felt like he was in their world too.

‘Whale?’ Livesay looked to Jim for confirmation and he nodded.  
‘Right Whale.’ Jim replied with a small smile. ‘It’s why the contact sounds so loud. They’re rather rotund for a cetacean.’

‘How do you know so much?’ Gunn asked, his usually bright blue eyes an odd shade in the red light.

‘I read.’ Jim replied. ‘Get back on your sweep.’

He wasn’t expecting much so soon after but it had barely been a minute before it hit the receiver like someone had blown a trumpet right next to it. The sound was unmistakable and Jim moved to stand right over Gunn, his hand on his shoulder as they all held their breath.

‘Contact, sir.’ Gunn was whispering but Jim could hear his excitement. He tapped Gunn’s shoulder twice, ordering him to keep quiet as they pinged the target again and got the same echo back. He could hear it more clearly now, the soft rush of the u-boat propellor at a speed somewhere in the region of six knots. They were running silent but close enough for Jim to pick up the distance whirr of machinery and, if he closed his eyes and concentrated particularly hard, count the blade rotations so that he was beyond doubt.

‘Send it up.’ he said and Gunn immediately relayed the information to the bridge, reading out the range and bearing and giving the type of contact. Jim leaned with the movement of the ship as she abruptly changed bearing, grinning wolfishly.

The hunt was on.

-

_Periers Ridge_

‘All clear down here.’ Ross looked up and then ticked off the sector on his map. They had been assigned the northwest corner of the bunker, the other crews taking their own section to make quicker time.

‘That’s us finished.’ he smiled at Carter, who was overseeing the rest of the crew, bar Jimmy who’d been left behind to set up their makeshift camp. They had moved their AVRE to park at right angles to Holmewoods and Edgeware’s, the result space in the middle being where they would spend the night. The drizzle had eased off, but there would be tarpaulins to cover them and keep out the worst of the damp and they would all have a chance to catch a reasonable night’s sleep before moving out again the next morning.

The sheer number of men passing through on the march to Caen was both a benefit and a hindrance and they had to weave in and out of column’s marching along the road that was now cleared. The roadside was crammed with more men, other vehicles and the lines of prisoners that had been captured from the various defences. The accents were a mix of Canadian, Quebecois and English, most of the regiments in fine humour. Their landing had been a great success with their casualties just over a thousand. Word had come in that the Americans had taken the brunt of the German defences.

Back at the tank, Ross found Jimmy with a can of water on the boil and a beaming face.

‘Look.’ He held up two tins of condensed milk with a flourish worthy of a magician and Carter went over and grabbed his face in his hands, kissing him soundly on the cheek.

‘You little beauty.’ He appropriated one of the tins. ‘Sweet tea all round.’

‘What’s for dinner?’ Headley was looking at the ration tins with interest.

‘I think it’s steak and kidney pud.’ Carlisle had one and was already wrestling with it. The others took theirs and Ross went to sit on a crate that had been acquired. A small cheer went up when it proved true that it was indeed steak and kidney pudding and they opened their tins, placing them in the fire to warm. There was also two thick army biscuits to go with it, some cheese, a small tin of apricot jam, butter, some sweets and then the usual salt tablets and sugar for their tea. It was odd stuff, powdered and very strong. They all contributed theirs to the can and the smell went up making them all sniff appreciatively.

Dinner was a noisy affair. The other two crews arrived while they were getting started and it turned positively festive when Holmewood produced the aforementioned whiskey and each man got a shot in his tea. Once the food was polished off, Ross lit a cigarette and leaned back against the tank, taking deep drags and squinting through the smoke. It was a clear evening, the light of many such fires around them and the constant movement of men and vehicles alleviating the strangeness of being in yet another country that was not his own. Carter and Holmewood were talking but Edgeware had wrapped himself in his coat and was sleeping, beret over his eyes and his head on his pack. Jimmy and Headley were doing the same, as was a fair number of the other crews. Carlisle was in a card game with the radiomen from a few tanks.

‘It didn’t take long for the low murmur of voices to lull Ross into a restful state. He shifted off the crate, bedding down next to Jimmy, using his pack as a pillow and stretching out his long legs. The last thing he thought of was Jim, and where he might be.

-

_North Atlantic_

Jim was itching to pace but he was limited by the space in the hut. Instead, he stood stock still behind Gunn, all of them listening and not daring to breathe. They had been tracking the u-boat for close on three hours now. Whoever he was, the captain was clearly an old hand at evasion and he was using every trick he knew to try and sneak past them. Thankfully, Sellar was just as wiley and they were still on its trail, the pings coming back stronger now as they closed in.

‘Soon.’ Livesay muttered from his post at the Plot and Jim threw him a grin over his shoulder. The pings were louder, the ship getting to where soon it would converge with the echo and they would be right on top of the u-boat.

‘Keep on him.’ he murmured and then broke into a broad smile when the next ping was loud enough to make them all wince. ‘Got him!’

The sounds waves converged on the next ping, the signal too mushy to be read properly but Jim knew they were right where they needed to be. From here, Preston’s crews would take over, hauling up the white barrel shaped charges and loading them into the launchers that would fling them over the side of the ship and down into the water where they would sink, hopefully dispatching their quarry.

The news was relayed and Jim kept an ear out for the splash and dull thud of the depth charges being launched. Soon enough was the low boom that indicated an explosion as the depth charge detonated. It went on for a while, thud after thud until something went off that had them all grabbing at their headphones and dragging them off. It took a moment for them to calm, their breathing loud in the hut.

‘Bloody hell.’ Jim leaned on Gunn’s shoulder. ‘The bastard must have been close.’ They kept listening, the strange screeching noise of a large amount of air escaping to the surface making the hull creak. That sobered them instantly and they were all quiet.

‘Poor buggers.’ Anderson muttered.

‘It’s quick, at least.’ Allerdyce said.

‘It’d be quick down here too.’ Livesay chuckled. ‘Magazine’s just behind us.’

‘Thank God.’ Jim folded his arms. ‘I’d rather that than the alternative.’

Confirmation of the hit came down a moment later, along with the order to relieve the watch. Jim checked the time and blew out a deep breath. He would be able to grab some more coffee and read another chapter before he was back at it and he was hungry as well. He spared a thought for Ross, wondering if he had made it through, then shook it off when his relief arrived.

The mess was empty when Jim got there so he helped himself to coffee from the urn and doctored it with liberal amounts of evaporated milk and sugar. His book was where he’d left it and he settled back into his corner with his coffee and some biscuits and started to read.


	7. El Alamein, November 1942

Ross squinted into the sun. He was sweating, the khaki shirt he wore wet under the arms and in the small of his back and his skin darkened to a deep tan, except where it was covered and it made for some fine jokes when he took his clothes off. The others liked to joke that Carter and Headley had a better time of it but right then they were just as hot and listless, all of them drooping with the unrelenting sunshine in spite of their short trousers. His feet felt like they were melting in his thick woollen socks and boots.

They were on mine clearing, their AVRE parked a good hundred yards back with a line of others. Ross’ men worked in teams of two, one with the deminer and the other to clear and lift the mines once they had been discovered. He was overseeing ten teams in a taped of area of about forty square metres, walking in their wake and giving advice if needed, which it wasn’t really. His men were experienced and well trained and Ross hummed to himself as they moved, a long single line through the empty field that the battalion were trying to traverse.

‘Bloody hell.’ Carter’s face was streaked with sweat. ‘It ain’t half hot out here.’

‘It’s penance for all your sins.’ Carlisle laughed. His nose was red and looked in danger of blistering, his fair skin completely at odds with the Egyptian sun. He grunted as he shifted the pack on his back, the deminer a great improvement on the conventional method of using a probe, typically the soldiers’ own bayonets, which was back-breaking work and required them to walk bent over and prod the sand in front of them.

The design was a recent one, invented by a Polish soldier named Jozef Kozacki and utilised an oscillating current and an acoustic signal. The metal components in the landmines disrupted the signal and the acoustic came up as a sharp whine through the headset, indicating the presence of a mine. The deminer’s partner would then crouch down close to the mine and gently clear away the sand and work to defuse it. Thankfully the sand here was loose and easily moved so they made better progress and were able to clear larger areas quite swiftly, even with the false positives caused by bullets and shrapnel.

Next to them, Headley and Jimmy had stopped. Headley had his hand in the air, s signal that they’d found something and the rest of the line stopped as well. Ross moved over to them, watching as Headley squatted down. His hands were sure as he brushed away the sand, revealing a small circular object. Ross sucked in air between his teeth. It was one of the larger anti-tank mines and could blow one clear off its tracks if it carelessly drove over it. Headly seemed to be unperturbed, humming tunelessly as he kept sweeping to reveal the casing, a good foot in diameter and painted the same pale colour as the sand around it. There was a trip wire underneath that had to be cut and Ross watched Headley take a small pair of nail scissors from his top shirt pocket. They were by far the best tool for the job and Headley gingerly lifted the edge of the mine just enough to get his hand in underneath. Ross held his breath until he heard the distinctive snick of the wire being cut and Headley could lift it out the sand with little difficulty.

‘All done.’ he said over his shoulder and Ross smiled.

‘Good work.’ He raised a hand to the watcher far behind them to indicate that they’d found a mine. No doubt there would be many to follow. Once they had cleared this section of German mines, the South African division with them would move in and lay their own mines in new formations to catch the Germans out.

Ross ordered the men to move slower. He kept pace, one careful footfall at a time. It still astounded him that so much rested on defending the one little spot of Egyptian spoil that centered around a dusty building that housed the Alamein railway station, the tracks running past and surrounded by a few other buildings on dirt roads that ran behind it. It was hardly a buzzing depot and yet it was without doubt the most fiercely contested location in North Africa. After the disastrous campaign in Libya that had forced the Allied forces to retreat, this was now the forefront of the defensive line. Rommel and his Panzer Afrika Korp were experienced men, battle hardened and with victory under their belts and made up of German and Italian forces, all under the leadership of the redoutable General Rommel, also known as the Desert Fox.

It was now the focal point of the Allied front, tanks and infantry all working together. The camps were set up, lines and lines of canvas tents. Ross shared his with Holmewood, happy to be billeted together. Holmewood was always excellent company. They had met in officers’ training and become fast friends, their common ground bonding them quickly. Holmewood was from Surrey, the third son of a lord with a wicked streak a mile wide and a heart of gold. Like Ross he was reading engineering, although he was at Cambridge rather than Oxford.

There was a sudden boom and a huge cloud of dust went up and Ross hit the ground hard, all of them dropping to lie flat on their bellies at the unexpected detonation. Ross laced his fingers over his tin hat, pressing it down and squeezing his eyes shut as three more detonations went off in quick succession.

The echoes finally died away and he heard men shouting. It probably meant someone was hurt and that made his stomach lurch. He waited until the all clear was shouted and got up, brushing sand from his uniform. In front of him, Carter was swearing.

‘Everyone got their fingers and toes?’ Ross asked, chuckling when Carter eyeballed him.

‘That was too bloody close.’ he muttered and fell back into line.

-

The clearing took the whole afternoon, but by the time they finished the way to the west lay clear of mines and the defensive line could move forward. Ross and his crew would be staying behind to hold the fort as it were.

They crossed the sand, the sun starting to sink towards the horizon. It was still hot enough to make the air shimmer and when they got back to their tents, all Ross wanted was to pout his feet up and take his shirt off. There might even be a refreshing whore’s bath in a mess kit of tepid water if he was lucky.

He found Holmewood outside their tent in a wood and canvas chair, another one standing empty next to it. Ross had no idea where he’d found it but he was grateful as he stripped off his shirt and chucked it on his bunk along with his beret. Their tent was a two-man affair, their sleeping rolls laid out on the sand, which proved a decent bedding. The enlisted men slept in larger ones, ten to a tent, and he was grateful. Holmewood didn’t snore, unlike Carter.

There was a small fire going and Holmewood had a billy can over it, the tea busy brewing. A runner would be round shortly with their rations and Ross went to help himself to some water from the jerry can. It was reasonably cool and he used his handkerchief to mop the sweat from his brow and under his arms, using it as an improvised washcloth and cleaning off his face. The water turned a dull brown after he’d done his torso, dropping his shorts enough to give himself perfunctory wash around his balls. Feeling much refreshed, he pulled them back up and rinsed the handkerchief, draping it over his head like a headscarf before he flopped into the chair and sighed deeply. Even the air was hot, the slides of his nostrils feeling dried out and stretched too tight. Holmewood offered him a cigarette and Ross took it, lighting it with the matches he kept in his pocket. A shiny lighter out in the desert was asking for trouble.

They sat in comfortable silence until a young soldier came around with their billy can of dinner and a couple of letters that he dug out of a canvas bag.

‘For you, Captain Poldark.’ he said in a reedy voice and Ross closed one eye against the smoke and grinned. He took them, half rising out of his chair and smirked when the soldier handed Holmewood one as well.

‘Angie keeping an eye on you?’ he asked and Holmewood chuckled. His dalliance with Carter’s sister was starting to look more and more serious by the day. He cheerfully gave Ross two fingers and ripped open his letter, far more interested in that than the food. Ross was far more pragmatic. He immediately recognised Verity’s elegant hand and Jim’s florid scrawl and tucked them both away in his pocket until afterwards. The evening meal was curry, lamb by the taste of it, served with rice and the flat pillowy breads that the village women made. He ate with gusto, taking time to relish the dessert of custard and tinned fruit that followed it.

Holmewood wandered off once the sun had set, the sky a beautiful deep velvety blue shot through with a million stars. He was in search of a card game and Ross took advantage of his absence to keep smoking and enjoy the evening. The desert was so quiet that the voices of men a good ten feet away seemed louder than they should. He turned them out and took out Verity’s letter first. It was written on the fine white stock that she preferred, a lingering hint of the lily of the valley perfume she wore still clinging to it. It was dated from three months before but that was par for the course with military mail.

_Dear Ross,_

_I do hope you are well. Papa and Francis send their regards and so do our dear little charges! I try to go and spend at least an hour or two with them every day. Demelza and the four oldest boys are all old enough to go into the village to school of course, but Drake and Samuel are but five and three respectively and so they stay at home. Claude, of course, remains utterly delighted at having all these extra playmates when he comes home from school and Grace tells me that they do get up to the most frightful shenanigans. Claude’s lessons in riding for Luke and William have bourne fruit and Joshua has even procured a couple of extra ponies for them. Demelza continues to hold retinue at Prudie’s knee. She used to cook for all her siblings in London and here she insists on helping, even though she is but thirteen. She is quite the mother to them! I am sad that you have yet to meet them because they are angels._

Ross smiled as he read. Grace and Joshua had been adamant about housing some of the evacuees from London, helping them to escape the worst of the Blitz. The Crane family had lived in the East End, subject to the worst of the Blitz. Their father, Tom Carne, had joined up and left them in the care of a neighbour but when the evacuation had happened at the end of 1939, they had been rounded up and sent down to Cornwall. Grace had deemed it necessary to keep the whole family together and so she’d ended up with all seven of them. Nampara was sprawling enough for them to have plenty of room and when news had come of Tom Carne’s unfortunate death in Libya, Grace had taken steps to keep them. By all accounts, for Verity’s letter was only one that allowed Ross to keep track of developments although Claude’s were largely filled with school gossip and lamentations on homework, they had become a much loved addition to the household. Demelza in particular had delighted his mother with her spirited disposition.

He finished the letter and had another smoke, sipping tea from his tin mug, drawing the anticipation out before he started on Jim’s letter. This one smelled bland and he closed his eyes for a moment and imagined that it held the scent of Jim’s skin. He missed him so terribly some times, the need for Jim a physical ache in his chest. His eyes misted over at the sight of the familiar greeting, the _R_ a large looping swirl, smiling as he thought of seawater eyes and a dimpled smile.

Unlike Verity’s letter, this was written on thin paper with the words **Royal Navy** printed in bold at the top. Ross knew that Jim bought it from the commissary, where he would also have bought the stamps that were adhered to it, costing one and three. On the left hand side was the notice of use, including the warning that it would be subject to the Postal Censor as did the myriad of purple postmarks all over it. He smiled as he traced a thumb over the words **on active service** , written above his name and identification number. Amusingly, Jim had simply listed his address as North Africa, making Ross snigger. He opened it more carefully, unfolding it and finding that there was a photograph enclosed with the letter. His heart thumped out of time as he looked at it. Jim was on the bow of the ship, bundled up in his heavy bridge coat of thick navy blue wool. His smile was brilliant and his hair was ruffled by the wind and Ross could see icebergs in the sea behind him.

_Dear Ross,_

_Winter is setting in good and proper now and I swear that every time I step off the bridge, my very hair freezes. Will has said that I am akin to a polar bear when that happens. He doesn’t fare much better though. His eyelashes froze together the other day and I took the opportunity to laugh heartily at him._

_The days seem so short, barely light for four or five hours, but the nights! They are so very beautiful. The sky is perfectly clear and the stars seem close enough to reach out and touch. We’ve been altering course somewhat and so I’ve also been able to see the Northern Lights on a few occasions. It is a spectacle - blue and green and pink all shimmering together - and if fate allows, I want you to see them with me one day._

_Life aboard is the same. There has been a little more activity recently, but nothing too difficult to take care of. I sometimes envy you being all the way in Africa with the sunshine. I could do with warming up. Most mornings the ratings have to knock the icicles from the railings. I know you’ll be laughing at me but I’ve taken to wearing those awful gloves that your Great Aunt Agatha makes for us every Christmas, even if they’re not strictly part of the uniform. It’s frightfully cold and we had to rescue one of the middies the other day. He’d taken a bet to lick the side of the bride and his tongue got stuck. We had to douse him with warm water to get him loose and I fear he’ll carry the indignity for the rest of his days!_

_We’ve also started a small reading club. Because space is so limited, it has been prudent to find all the other bookworms amongst the crew and we now swap volumes every Wednesday. I’m currently reading a most interesting recount of the opening of Tutankhamun’s tomb by Howard Carter, complete with photographs. I think about you often when I look at it, being in the same vicinity and all. It’s a pity you aren’t able to go on a bit of archaeological scouting while you’re there. Out here there’s nothing much to see apart from the waves and icebergs. Down below, it’s a bit different and I can listen to a whole other world. Obviously I can’t say too much or the censors will take a marker to this but I can say that the other night, a young gentleman out courting passed us, singing all the while. It reminded me of you when you’ve had a few._

_Ross read on, warming from the inside at the fondness in Jim’s words. He had such a clever way of writing and Ross was soon laughing out loud at the recounted story of a pub in Jutland, a goat and a midshipman that would have sounded completely ridiculous coming from anyone else. He had, however, learned that the Service had a very odd way of doing things and came up with the most inventive ways to keep their crews from becoming bored._

_The last paragraph as always had a lump forming in his throat, wishing that the letter could go on and on just so he could imagine Jim’s voice in his head telling him what he’d been up to._

_I must go, my watch is almost up. I will try to write again soon, although I have no idea when you get these. I would imagine it’s a little difficult to rustle up a carrier pigeon in the middle of the desert!_

_Σε αγαπώ,_   
_Jim_

Ross smoothed a fingertip over the words. Jim always wrote them in Greek, not trusting his letters to get past the censors. They were always careful to keep their letters chaste, knowing the problems that could result from their true relationship being discovered. It didn’t matter much to them either way. Neither of them were given to flowery stanzas full of longing. Ross knew how much Jim loved him and could feel it with every anecdote and wish for their future.

‘I love you too.’ he murmured before pressing his lips to Jim’s graceful signature and then carefully folding the letter back up. It would go in his pack, secreted inside his copy of _Gawain and The Green Knight_ , along with all the others that he hoarded, taking them out to reread whenever he had a moment to himself.

He stayed out watching the night sky for another hour or so. Holmewood came back, grumbling about being fleeced and Ross snorted with laughter. He was starting to feel his eyelids drooping and he stretched out, watching the fire die down. Here it was too far from the front line and it was easy to pretend that the war was just as far away. He wriggled his bare toes, having long since stripped off his socks and boots, and dug them into the sand.

‘I think I’ll turn in.’ he said and Holmewood nodded agreement. They brushed their teeth, spitting the water onto the ground, and then went to bed, which consisted of both of them crawling into their bedrolls, thrashing around to get comfortable and then the inevitability of their feet sticking out the end of the tent. Thankfully the day’s work was enough to lull them both to sleep in a matter of minutes. Ross’ last thought was that of swirling bands of colour in the sky, the blue and green melding together until it was the exact shade of Jim’s eyes.

-  
Morning came with the Rouse, played at full volume by several of the buglers from the Australian Army that was stationed along with the 8th. Ross lay in his blankets, listening to the brassy notes resounding through the morning air and brace himself for the day. Next to him, Holmewood muttered something about _overly cheerful Aussie bastards_ and rolled over.

The daylight had a clarity that seemed to come from the reflection of the sunlight by the stretches of near white sand. Above him the sky was every shade of blue and seemed to stretch on forever. Ross dressed in a clean shirt and handed his off to one of the soldiers that came by with a billy can of water for shaving and tea. He used his hand mirror and his carefully rationed shaving soap, rinsing his razor in his tin mug. At least the fire kept it hot and he wiped his face clean and raised an eyebrow as Holmewood surfaced.

‘Good morning.’ He grinned when Holmewood grunted a reply. ‘How much did you lose exactly?’

‘Too bloody much.’ Holmewood went to inspect the billy can. ‘Spencer is an absolute bugger for cards.’

Ross laughed outright at that. Spencer was a short dapper man, ruddy and blond and with a laugh that boomed like an artillery gun. His family were from a seat in Kent and he had spent much of his university years earning a reputation as something of a hedonist. He and Holmewood had run in the same circle and found themselves in cahoots once more here in Egypt. Ross liked him very well indeed for he was deeply interested in theatre and was an associate of Noel Coward. His stories were immensely entertaining and he’d caught on pretty quick as to what Ross was and indicated that he was of the same inclination.

After a breakfast of tea, bully beef and army biscuit, the dripping in the beef melted and unctuous and surprisingly tasty, Ross went in search of Carter and the rest of his men. He found his sergeant at the AVRE, looking on as one of their mechanics fiddled in the engine. They both straightened up as he approached and Ross waved off their salutes, greeting them with a good morning and a concerned expression.

‘Any luck?’ he asked and the mechanic shrugged. He was from Birmingham, a lance-corporal named Kishran Singh. He heaved a sigh, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. Unlike the rest of the troops he wore a black turban and full beard as required by his religion, and Ross fancied that he always managed to look far more put together than any of them.

‘This is not the place for her, sir.’ he said in his flat accent, affectionately slapping the shell of the tank. ‘The sand gets in everything. I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve. With any luck I can get her running by this afternoon.’

‘Good man.’ Ross set a hand on his shoulder. Singh was taller than he was and he grinned at Ross and nodded before retreating back into the tank’s innards.

‘We on patrol today, sir?’ Carter asked and Ross nodded.

‘Get them assembled.’ he said. ‘I’m going to find one of our illustrious leaders.’

He walked through the camp, listening to the sounds around him as the camp came to life. In the mess tents, men were gathering for food and as he passed the station there was a group of Australians, recognisable by their slouch hats and deep tans. They were lounging in the sun and Ross noticed that some joker had scratched the words To Sydney under the black painted Alamein on the station wall. Their sergeant gave Ross a salute as he passed and he returned it, not particularly bothered by the lack of subordination. The Aussies were a law unto themselves but as brave and stoic a man as Ross had ever met. He liked all the Commonwealth forces - the South Africans with their odd sounding chatter and ability to find the most unlikely paths through seemingly unpassable spots, the Indians with their bright voices and extraordinary expertise in demolitions (building trains in the Himalayan foothills and beyond made for troops that were extremely competent at handling dynamite) and the Kiwis with their open friendliness and spare flat vowels that sometimes had him thinking twice to understand them. He found it extremely amusing that all these countries, with such diverse languages and cultures, should all be united as they were by one single thing. No, not devotion to King and Country but a love of a beloved sport - cricket, which was played with an obsessiveness that saw impromptu pitches set up all over camp and many a ball and bat stowed amongst gear.

He found his commanding officer in the H.Q. - a large circular canvas tent. The aide-de-camp outside ushered him in and he found Major Barrymore at his campaign desk, poring over a couple of maps.

‘Ross.’ He gave him a warm smile. ‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, sir.’ Ross saluted him and removed his beret. ‘You’re up early.’

‘Time and tide, Ross.’ Barrymore was one of the few people to call him by his first name. ‘I need you on the road by 0800. There’s an artillery group that needs relief and I’d like you to provide an escort.’

‘Of course.’ Ross replied. ‘Singh is busy working on our AVRE. We’ll need to use another.’

‘Here.’ Barrymore scribbled something on a slip of paper. ‘Get whatever you need. I’ll want you out there until the next watch.’

‘Sir.’ Ross took the paper and saluted, leaving the way he’d come. He handed it off to a runner and headed for the medical tents a few down from the H.Q.

Out here there wasn’t as much need for an involved set up. The tents were basically triage, the worst cases being dealt with quickly and with the minimum of treatment that would keep them alive until they could be driven to the rear positions where they could receive further and better treatment. The medics on the frontline were adept at dealing with the worst cases that could possibly be seen but still managed to maintain their sense of humour, even if it was a little dark. He did a quick scout of the tents before finding the man he was looking for out the back of one, humming as he shaved.

‘Good morning.’ Dwight’s blue eyes were blurry with fatigue but he was smiling nonetheless.

‘Good morning.’ Ross came to lean against the crates next to him. ‘You were up late?’

‘That little blast yesterday kept me busy.’ Dwight replied, carefully running the razor over the sharp line of his jaw.

‘Serious?’ Ross asked and he rinsed his razor and shook his head.

‘A couple of broken bones and shrapnel wounds but thankfully, nothing fatal.’ he replied. ‘I sent two of them back but the others are all here. It’ll give them a day or two of respite so they’re not really complaining.’ He dried his face and gave Ross a quizzical look. ‘You have the look of a man on a mission.’

‘We’re escorting a relief brigade out to one of the artillery posts.’ Ross explained. ‘I thought I’d come say farewell before I go.’

‘How very Arthurian of you.’ Dwight chuckled. ‘I assume that means our bridge game will have to wait.’

‘It will.’ Ross grinned and they shook hands. It had become something of a ritual. ‘I’ll be in two days.’

‘God willing as our Arabic hosts would say.’ Dwight waved him off. ‘Come back in one piece, Ross. I’d hate to have to sew you together and both Jim and Caroline would positively murder me if you were maimed on my watch.’

Ross left him cheerfully yelling at one of his orderlies and headed back to the tank line. The changeover had been relatively quick and his crew was waiting for him with their new vehicle when he got back, his own gear already packed and stowed along with theirs. Their Crusader tank was a little different in configuration but it was also roomier and that was always a way to make his men smile. The relief brigade would be travelling in two trucks behind them and Ross climbed up and into the turret, taking his usual place up top so that he could survey the land as they travelled. Down below, Carter started the engine, the tank roaring to life before he threw it into gear. It lurched as it took off, the treads making quick work of the hard packed sand and Ross turned his face into the wind and enjoyed the morning sunshine as they set off.


	8. Demobilisation

Caen, Normandy. July 1945.

Ross shifted his pack to his other shoulder, restless and not quite able to hide his eagerness to get off the dock and onto the ship. Next to him, Holmewood chuckled and blew out a cloud of smoke.

‘You need to relax.’ he said. ‘You’re not getting home any faster than the rest of us.’

Ross snorted inelegantly and peered down the line at the troops. In mid-September the previous year, Eisenhower had been firmly entrenched in France, his US troops taking over from the other allied lines and pushing deeper and deeper into Europe. Operation Overlord was officially ended, the campaign’s successes in taking the Cotentin peninsula all the way to Rouen paving the way for fresh troops. They came in by the shipload even now, some veteren soldiers like himself but the vast majority were fresh faced American boys that looked as if they’d come straight off the farm.

The Third was going home, after a long twelve months of heavy fighting and building infrastructure. Ross wasn’t sure what the future held, but he had a good week ahead of him where he would be doing nothing but recuperating in London while he was demobbed. Then he was getting on a train to Cornwall.

Jim was already home, having been released from his duties in June once the heavy lifting of the RN was done. There were enough men to make up the regular numbers, many having found that the service suited them, while still more transferred to the merchant navy. More and more convoys were sailing every day, returning troops back home and bringing in supplies now the Reich had fallen. May had seen Berlin fall and Hitler dead in a ditch, his men scattered and running to try and evade what was coming to them. All Ross knew was that his time on the continent was done and he couldn’t be happier for it.

Next to him Holmewood took a deep breath and his usually cheerful countenance was sober.

‘I do wonder how we shall fit back in.’ he said, frowning. ‘This has been an altogether rather odd experience.’

‘That’s putting it mildly.’ Ross chuckled, but he was feeling the same sense of uncertainty. He had had a letter from home the previous fortnight, Joshua talking about how much rebuilding was needed after the bombing of many metropolitan areas and the boom in industry that would no doubt be coming. He had grand plans for him and Ross. Verity was now married to her merchant captain and mistress of her own house, much more humble than her family seat and better for it. Ross was fairly sure that Charles was never going to forgive him and Jim for introducing them but Andrew was a good man, steady and with a gentle temperament that matched her own. Charles had objected because he was older, a widower with two young children, but that had not deterred Verity and she’d eloped with Andrew when he’d gone back on leave that last time, much to her family’s chagrin. Andrew’s children, Esme and James, were at the village school and by all accounts adored their step-mother. Verity, who’d never envisaged herself having the chance to fall in love and get married now had a ready made family and was very happy.

He heard footsteps and turned to find Dwight behind him. He grinned and came to lean on the rail alongside them, smartly turned out as they were and carrying everything he had in his pack.

‘All ready for the trip?’ he asked and Ross nodded.

‘You are going to love Cornwall.’ he said. ‘But I must warn you that you’ll have to spend the first week being paraded around by Caroline, my mother and Verity. A new doctor is always the subject of gossip and they’ll have a direct line so to speak.’

‘I can’t believe you’ve managed to convince him to go home with you.’ Holmewood laughed.

‘I reckon Caroline did more than her fair share in convincing him.’ Ross grinned Dwight. ‘I’m putting all my money on a summer wedding.’

We could pair up.’ Holmewood suggested. ‘Save some time.’

‘I don’t think so.’ A large hand came down on his shoulder and Carter beamed at him. ‘If I know my sister, she’s going to expect something spectacular and not wish to share the limelight.’

‘I suppose.’ Holmewood grumbled. He had been the intermediary for some five months since his last leave when he’d finally proposed to Angie and told his parents that he was going to be marrying a young lady from South London. Their lack of approval had been the beginning of a terrific row, but Holmewood had enough money that he could live independently quite happily. There had been many long discussions and it had been decided that once they were married, he would embark on the long voyage to Jamaica with Angie and Carter to set up home there, having come to the realisation that he was not built for the English climate after his stint in Africa. He and Carter had plans to open a fine hotel in Kingston.

‘She may even have said something about tiaras and St Paul’s.’ Carter winked at Ross behind Holmewood’s back.

‘Lord help me.’ Holmewood sighed and put his chin in his hand.

The six hour trip back to England took them across the Channel and up the Thames, stopping to unload at Shadwell docks. There were long lines of men, all in uniform and all looking positively gleeful to be home. The general mood was almost carnival in its cheerfulness and it infected them all as they wound their way through the throngs of soldiers to find where they would be officially demobbed. London was only the first stop. From there, they would be transferred to a disembarkation camp and then transferred once again to a demobilisation camp. The irony was that for soldiers such as Carter, who lived in London itself, he was actually travelling further away from home.

‘Typical bloody army.’ he muttered. ‘No sense at all.’

Ross felt sympathy. The enlisted men, even ones who had volunteered like Carter had, were held up by bureaucracy and subjected to complicated approval of both their medical condition and their accounts. The army had been their employer for what was the entire period of their enlistment, but that was countered by the cost of keeping them clothed and fed and that would all have to be accounted for. For officers the process was a little different. Ross and the others would have to formally resign from their commissions before they could be released.

‘We’ll see you on the other side.’ Homewood said, trying for mollifying but not quite pulling it off. They all knew too well the different levels of treatment they would get and none of them felt comfortable with it.

‘I expect so.’ Carter stopped, waving at the small knot of men. Ross recognised his crew among them and held up a hand for a moment’s reprieve. ‘I suppose this is my stop then.’

‘Go say goodbye, Ross.’ Dwight had already said his own farewells to his staff back in France, many of whom were staying on. ‘I’ll wait here.’

Ross nodded and jogged across to the line of non-commissioned soldiers. His crew were all standing there waiting as he approached. They looked for all the world like a group of schoolboys on a day trip, giddy with the anticipation of going home. Ross was saddened by the realisation that he probably wouldn’t see them much once this was done, with the exception of Jimmy. The young man was going to be moving across to the Roseland peninsula, a job offer with his father’s estate in hand. He’d made the same offer to the others but Headley had had enough of Britain and was making the trip back to Jamaica with Carter and Holmewood, while Carlisle was returning to assume his former position in his uncle’s car factory and marry his long time sweetheart, Penelope.

‘Attention!’ Carter barked and they all straightened up one last time, saluting Ross with broad grins.

‘We made it through, sir.’ Jimmy was beaming. ‘We all live to tell the tale.’

‘That we did.’ Ross clapped him on the shoulder, smiling in reply. ‘I’m proud of all of you. I couldn’t have asked for a better crew or better men to be by my side. You’ve done well, lads. I wish you nothing but the best fortune.’

Their beaming faces told him that they felt exactly the same way, and there were brisk handshakes and exhortations for Ross to keep well and take care. One by one, he watched them pass him by until it was just him and Carter left. Their eyes met and Carter breathed in a deep frelective breath and then smiled broadly.

‘You’ll come visit.’ he stated and Ross nodded, taking his offered hand.

‘I will, Ike.’ He jerked a nod in Holmewood’s direction. ‘Tell Angie I have him delivered shortly.’

‘Thank you.’ Carter’s smile softened into something more serious. ‘It was an honour, sir.’

‘The honour was mine.’ Ross threw an arm around him and Carter returned the embrace, squeezing until Ross felt like his ribs were squeaking in protest.

‘I’ll miss you.’ He was unashamed in his sentiment. ‘Don’t keep us waiting long.’

‘As soon as this year is out and the world starts to go back to normal.’ Ross promised. They separated and Carter laughed and gently slapped Ross’ cheek.

‘See you soon, Ross.’ He hefted his pack onto his shoulder, tipping him a little wave.

‘Good-bye, Ike.’ Ross watched him go, joining the long line of men and then walking back slowly, fighting down the lump in his throat.

Holmewood and Dwight flanked him like bookends and steered him towards the tent for the commissioned officers.

‘You feel maudlin now, but wait until we get some good whiskey in you.’ Holmewood declared.

‘God, no more whiskey.’ Ross groaned and they laughed and threw an arm each around his shoulders. It took some doing to enter the tent but they managed and found themselves facing a harassed looking corporal with a clipboard.

‘Name, regiment and service number, sir.’ He looked at them expectantly and Ross found himself shoved forward. He set down his pack, stepped forward and moved to take the first step into the next phase of his life.

-

Cornwall, 1945

Jim closed the door of the lighthouse behind him and turned into the sun, closing his eyes and breathing in the salty Cornish air. It was promising to be a beautiful day, the warmth soaking through to his very bones. It was positively luxurious after his years at sea, the icy cold of the North Atlantic that was stark in a different kind of beauty but one that had never quite usurped that of his home.

A soft whine from inside his jumper had him smiling and patting the puppy secreted there. Black Dog no longer haunted the lighthouse, now safely stowed in the cottage on the southern side of the headland where Silver and Flint now lived out their retirement. Jim had spent a great deal of time with them since his return, coming off the train at Truro to find them both waiting for him, along with Joshua. His fathers’ pride and joy had quite taken his breath away and Jim had been crushed between them, all of them laughing and crying and talking at the same time. That had been May and he was still getting used to being back.

‘Shall we go down and see what’s happening on the beach?’ he asked and Gloria licked his nose. She was the product of one of Black Dog’s illicit liaisons with one of Ross’ parents black Labradors, hefty and fluffy and pure black with a white heart shaped mark on her chest. Claude had adopted one of the others as his own, Caroline had another and Verity and Andrew had taken the last two. There had been quite a great deal of discussion as to what they would turn out like, but there was no denying that two water dogs crossed had produced one that was fairly obsessed. Gloria adored the sea and threw herself into puddles with gleeful abandon. She insisted on a morning swim, which was where they were now headed.

Jim took his time, setting Gloria down when they got to the path. She bounded ahead of him, tumbling in the sea grass until they came down onto the beach, the sand hard packed where the tide was going out. He followed her, keeping to the dry sand while she romped in the foam until he got to the far curve of the bay. He stopped outside the shed, still upright even if it was a little ramshackle now, and pondered it.

The door stuck a bit and Jim had to put his shoulder to it, finally getting it open and almost falling through it into the gloom. He laughed softly at himself, going inside and looking over the contents. It was much as he’d left it and he walked to the main beam and smiled when he saw the carved initials there, running a thumb over them before taking out his penknife and refreshing the cuts in the wood. Outside, Gloria was yipping for him, worried that he was no longer in sight. Jim left, shutting the door behind him and chasing her up the beach back towards the lighthouse.

When he got back, he found the postman had been. There were a few letters but the one he was most interested in held the stamp of His Majesty’s Army and a return address in Kent. Jim ripped it open even as he elbowed open the door of the lighthouse, barely able to contain himself. He sat down on the old sofa, resting one ankle on the opposite knee to read while scooping Gloria up off the floor. Exhausted from her walk, she collapsed in his lap and was soon snoring her quiet puppy snores and Jim chuckled and toyed with one silky ear, the letter held in his other hand.

_Jim,_

_Well I have landed in Blighty once more and been shipped from pillar to post in my attempts to get myself demobbed. We landed in Wapping and it has been a long haul to Kent. I am, of course, accompanied by the estimable Rupert and Dwight (both of whom bid you a cheery hello) and so I am not so unhappy, just terribly impatient to be on my way and back in Cornwall._

_The men here are all restless. They are treating us well and the grub is top notch, even with rationing. Dwight is currently sitting next to me and writing to Caroline so we apologise in advance if you get the same news twice. Rupe is planning to return to London once he is let go, which has amused us all terribly. It seems typical somehow of the Army that he had to travel over a hundred miles to the camp only to get on a train and head back again once he is done here. Ike has a better deal of it. His camp is in Croydon and he’ll be home in no time. Lucky him!_

_We have the added benefit of being able to receive our full pay right up until our commission is resigned, which I am told will only happen in a few months. There are very many people being released and the paperwork is piled all the way to the ceiling. They are also supplying us with a set of civilian clothing, although we have the option of retaining certain items if we wish. I should think that the crew will no doubt keep their greatcoats for these are very good quality items and would cost a lot to replace._

_Once we are officially resigned from the regiment, then we get our train tickets and are ushered back into polite society. Truthfully, I wonder if any of us will be able to fully adapt once again to what were our lives before but I suppose that remains to be seen. I do know that I long for the Cornish sea and the pleasantries of Nampara and of course to see you and my family. It feels like it is all just within my reach and yet still so far from me that it infuriates me._

_I shall be coming back through London, so if there is anything that you would like to pick up for you, you can write by return to let me know. I already have a list from Verity and my mother. Claude has said that he will come down from Harrow to meet me and come home. They are giving him a pass to accompany his brother home and he is tickled pink. I feel it has more to do with the opportunity to have a night on the town more than anything else. I am, however, under strict instructions from Grace to make sure he behaves himself._

_They’ve just rung the bell for dinner so I must go. All I can say is, soon._

_Until then,_

_Ross_

Jim snorted and reread the letter a few times, imagining Ross’ sardonic tones in his head. Joshua had been round the day before to check that all was in readiness. He and Grace would keep up pretences that Ross was living at Nampara, but they all knew that as soon as he returned he would be moving into the lighthouse with Jim on a permanent basis. Silver and Flint’s old room had been refurbished, the kitchen area was boasting a new range and such Jim’s old alcove had been fitted out as an office for Ross to work while Jim tended the light. He settled back onto the sofa, sighing happily as he watched the sleeping Gloria.

Unlike Ross, he could wait. After all it wasn’t too much longer at all.


	9. Cornwall, 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR JACEY!!!!!! I FINALLY GOT HERE AHAHAHHAHAH!

_Gibraltar, 1943_

_Ross blinked a few times, his eye gummed shut by sleep and his mouth as dry as the desert sand. He felt like he was wrapped in cotton wool, all the sounds around him muffled but slowly sharpening as he fought his way to consciousness._

_He took in a breath, wincing at the ache in his ribs. Every part of him hurt and he realised that he could not be anywhere but an infirmary. His last recollection had been El Alamein, but it was different kind of heat wherever he was, more sultry and fragrant than Dwight’s desert hospital._

_‘Good morning.’ The voice was warm with affection and shot through with deep relief. Ross managed to focus long enough to see sea-coloured eyes and a wide smile. ‘I’m so pleased you decided to join me.’_

_‘Jim?’ He spoke in a rusty croak, convinced he was hallucinating. The hallucination snorted a laugh and reached for the glass and carafe on the white metal table next to Ross’ bed and poured him some water. Ross watched, becoming more and more lucid as his hallucination came to perch on the edge of his bed and helped him to sit up a little before holding the glass to his lips._

_‘Small sips.’ he instructed. ‘We don’t want you to drown.’_

_Ross took a small mouth of water, the coolness of it soothing his dry throat. He realised that the reason he couldn’t see out of his left eye was that it was thickly bandaged and he reached up, noticing that his hand was shaking. He felt around and the hallucination cocked his head and watched him like a hawk._

_‘It was artillery fire.’ he told Ross. ‘Shrapnel. It ripped a neat gash from your eyebrow all the way down to your jaw. Dwight said they had to put twenty stitches in it and that was only the beginning.’_

_‘Bloody hell.’ Ross fell back against the pillows. ‘My crew?’_

_‘All accounted for.’_

_‘Good.’ Ross regarded the hallucination. ‘Are you real?’_

_‘And that would be the shellshock talking.’ The smile was too familiar, too real and Ross felt his heart thump as Jim leaned over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. ‘Yes, I’m quite real, Ross. Just be thankful that the ship was stopping off for supplies. I have a three day pass and was able to run up here as fast as my legs would carry me after I got a wire saying that you were here for your recovery.’_

_‘Oh.’ Ross was delighted but also so very tired. His eyelids drooped and he saw a glimmer of Jim’s smile as they closed and he went back to sleep._

-

There was a jump in the tracks and Ross startled awake. It took a while to realise where he was and then Dwight came into focus, sitting across from him in their compartment. They were sharing with another officer, an older grizzled man who was fast asleep like Ross had been, and two women dressed in nurse’s uniforms.

Ross caught Dwight’s concerned eye and shook his head slightly. He was used to such dreams and was sure that the lively conversation on all things medical between Dwight and the nurses had been what had prompted his dream. It had been a while since he thought about that last battle at El Alamein, the place he’d been hit and almost died if you listened to his crew tell the tale. Thankfully it hadn’t been as bad as they had thought and Ross had recovered from his shellshock and his cracked ribs soon enough and returned to his regiment and his crew.

Almost automatically he traced the scar with his forefinger where it stood out livid against his tanned skin, glancing at the landscape rushing by. The texture was thready and tough and he’d hated it until that last leave when Jim had laughed and tumbled him into bed, calling Ross his Cornish pirate. That had been enough to allay Ross’ fears and now it was simply part of him, as distinctive as his dark eyes or curly hair.

‘Ross?’ Dwight said and he turned back to him.

‘I’m sorry, I must have dropped off.’ He addressed this to the ladies and they both demurred, saying they were well aware of how demobbed soldiers felt relaxed enough to finally have a good long sleep on the train.

The train started to slow and Ross leaned forward, watching for the station sign. He was unsure of the passage of time but he had probably been sleeping for at least an hour, maybe more.

‘Two hours.’ Dwight was looking at his watch. ‘The next one is Exeter.’

That eased some of Ross’ tension. It would be another three hours before they got ot Truro and then another hour in the car but it would all be worth it because he would be home.

-

_‘Hmmm.’ Jim turned a page of the newspaper he was reading and Ross peered at him over the top of it._

_‘What?’ he asked and Jim huffed, looking annoyed when he folded it back up and laid it aside._

_‘Nothing you need to know.’ he replied. ‘It will just get you overexcited.’_

_‘Bollocks.’ Ross snorted. He was now back to being fully lucid, and he hated it. The painkillers he’d been weaned off had kept him delightfully fuzzy and relaxed but now he was back to good old aspirin, Ross was more than a little cranky. It hurt every time he moved and the stitches in his face pulled and itched something awful. The only bright spot was that Jim had returned after three weeks at sea and he was almost completely healed. This meant they could sit and chat and even take a turn about the hospital gardens, Ross shuffling along in his gown and slippers, maroon dressing gown tied around him. Even though it was winter, Gibraltar was unseasonably mild and very pleasant, if you could forget the fact that there was a war on and even though Jim was in touching distance, Ross couldn’t so much as kiss him. It was maddening if he was being frank._

_Jim’s dimples flickered and he folded the newspaper and set it aside._

_‘Come on.’ He got up. ‘I think we need some fresh air.’_

-

The final hour on the train seemed to stretch out longer than any Ross had ever spent, including sitting in foxholes and waiting for artillery to hit, when minutes felt like hours and nothing made sense.

He tapped on the window frame, fingernails glancing off the metal trim. The nurses had gotten off St Austell, bidding Dwight a cheery goodbye and giving Ross considering looks. Dwight had laughed about how they had found him dour and brooding and Ross had snorted at that. He knew he wasn’t the same man who had gone to war but in some ways it had settled him and, even if he still had nightmares, he could now look at himself in the mirror and be at peace with what he saw.

The landscape was now as familiar as his own home. Ross had long lost count of how many times he had made this journey, but this time it held more meaning than any he had had before. He shifted in his seat, running one hand through his hair.

‘You’re nervous.’ Dwight was watching him. ‘Although I have no idea why.’

Ross gave him a half-smile, thinking on that very thing himself. It was a sober kind of nervousness, not the giddy excitement and anticipation he’d had all those years ago when he and Jim had fallen in love among the sea grass. It felt suddenly like the rest of his life was stretching out before him, a long road that had no end in sight and it was profoundly unsettling and also the most welcome thing all at once.

They travelled across the moors that stretched from one side of the Cornish peninsula to the other and the track made its way down towards the village that lay cupped in what looked like a hollow. Truro was small compared with other places, but it bustled nonetheless. The train slowed and steam rushed past the window as they came alongside the platform and its long low red brick buildings. When it finally stopped, Dwight was already on his feet. His eagerness was contagious and Ross found himself doing the same, taking down his bag and shouldering it with a long practised ease.

He followed Dwight out the compartment, both of them getting a little stuck in the narrow gangway, before finally taking his first step out the train and down onto the platform. There was enough people that it was difficult to find anyone but it wasn’t half a minute before there was a shriek and the sound of clicking heels and a blonde whirlwind came pushing through the crowd, her blue eyes shining and her cheeks flushed with happiness.

‘Dwight!’ Caroline launched heartfelt at him and Dwight, who had fortunately had the wherewithal to drop his own things, caught her easily, sweeping her into the air before setting her down and kissing her so soundly that both his hat fell off and hers was dislodged, kept only in place by its pins. Ross chuckled, watching them with a warmth unfolding deep in his chest. It wasn’t until he felt a prickle at the back of his neck that he realised he wasn’t alone and turned slowly.

Jim looked back at him, bareheaded and dressed in only in shirtsleeves with his hands shoved in his pockets. Ross knew why he did that and what it meant and that made his heart start thumping.

‘You’re back.’ He smiled and it was dazzling and Ross dropped his bag and threw both arms around him. He couldn’t kiss him like he wished to but the very feel of Jim in his arms, his hands coming up to clutch at the back of Ross’ jacket, was enough and Ross closed his eyes and buried his nose in the warm cotton covering Jim’s shoulder and breathed in salt and sea air and the man he loved more than his own life.

‘I’m back.’ He was fighting back all the tumult inside him, trying so hard not to cry. Jim’s grip tightened and he turned his head just enough that his lips brushed Ross’ ear.

‘Your family wants to see you.’ he murmured. ‘I’m to take you home directly but it’s a long walk from the gate to the house.’

Ross pulled back, his vision blurred but still beaming. He noted Jim’s deep tan and how it made his blue-green eyes sparkle.

‘You look well.’ he said and Jim shrugged, nodding at the scar on Ross’ face.

‘I’m very pleased to see you haven’t added to that.’ he replied and Ross burst out laughing. He handed Jim his valise and picked up his bag.

‘I have the car.’ It was Caroline, radiant under Dwight’s arm. ‘I’ll drop you two off at the gate before I take this one home where he belongs.’

Dwight chuckled and squeezed her fondly.

‘I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep in a decent bed and something that doesn’t come out of a tin.’ he told her and she positively glowed at him.

‘Ray has the entire staff on call.’ she told him. ‘He’s as excited about his war hero potential nephew-in-law arriving home as I am.’

‘Well, I just want to get back in one piece.’ Ross said, wishing he could do the same and draw Jim under his arm and hold him close. Judging from the wistful look on Jim’s face, he felt the same.

‘I promise to drive at a reasonable speed.’ Caroline waved an airy hand and dragged Dwight with her. Outside, her sleek little car looked barely able to hold the two of them, never mind all four of them and their luggage. Ross shared a look with Jim, catching the quirk of Jim’s mouth.

‘Here.’ He loaded his things into the back seat, while Dwight edged his way into the front passenger side. ‘Take these. I’m sure we can find a way back that does not involve acting like a sardine.’

‘Suit yourself!’ Caroline started the car, the engine roaring to life and reminding Ross a bit of his tank. ‘We’ll be round for cocktails tonight!’

They took off in a flurry of leaves and a puff of exhaust fumes and tore down the road, narrowly avoiding a pair of cyclists. Ross couldn’t contain his laugh and shook his head at the quickly vanishing vehicle.

‘She drives like the devil.’ Jim muttered, falling into step beside him. ‘I had the misfortune of letting her take me across to Newquay the other day.’

‘You should choose your friends more wisely.’ Ross said, bumping into him deliberately and making Jim swear. He was feeling buoyant, the Cornish sunshine and the green leaves overhead bringing on a friskiness he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jim laughed and bumped him back and they started walking along the road out of town. It didn’t take them too long to hitch a ride on the back of an old farm vehicle, sitting with their legs dangling over the backboard with hay bales behind them. The man was going further south but happily offered to take them past Nampara and they settled in for the ride.

Ross took out his cigarettes and offered one to Jim, both of them exhaling and watching the thin streams of blue smoke catch their wake and disappear.

‘Jimmy’s settling in well.’ Jim said after a few minutes’ silence. ‘I think Demelza may have her eye on him.’

‘Really?’ Ross grinned. The Carne children had had the sad news that their father had been killed and so Grace and Joshua had taken steps to make sure they would remain in their care.

‘Although Claude might object.’ Jim laughed, his dimples showing. ‘She is a pretty little thing and she’s bright as a button. She’s been coming to read at the lighthouse and I’m teaching her Latin.’

‘Hmmm.’ Ross leaned against him, Jim’s should a warm line through his clothing. ‘Should I be jealous?’

‘No.’ Jim gave him a wicked smile. ‘If I thought it wouldn’t scandalise the village, I’d show you just how much you shouldn’t be jealous right now.’

‘A literal roll in the hay?’ Ross arched an eyebrow at him. ‘I’m far too well bred for that.’

‘I have it on good authority that you are not.’ Jim leaned in and Ross swallowed hard, his body responding far too eagerly.

‘You are a terrible influence.’ he muttered and Jim threw his head back and laughed all the way out the village and into the hedgerows.

-

_‘What shall we do once this is over?’_

_The question caught Ross by surprise and he blinked against the fierce Spanish sun and peered at Jim, who was leaning against one of the colonades that lined the courtyard of the hospital building._

_‘I thought we might go back to Cornwall.’ he said. ‘Were you thinking of something else?’_

_‘No.’ Jim looked thoughtful. ‘Silver wrote me a letter. It seems the old men are thinking of taking up your father’s offer of retirement and moving into the cottage in a year or so.’_

_‘Oh.’ Ross frowned. It made sense. Silver and Flint had both been in their late forties when they had taken Jim in and were now edging closer to sixty, even if they were both still hale and hearty._

_‘I rather thought I’d take the light.’ Jim looked across the garden and Ross knew that he was waiting for approval. Jim had a habit of trying to seem unconcerned when he really wanted something. He grinned and plucked a flower from the vine next to him, chucking it at Jim to get his attention._

_‘How long have you been pondering that particular thought?’ he asked and Jim shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. It would have fooled anyone, but Ross knew him far too well and read the tension in his shoulders easily._

_‘A while.’ He shifted position and then came to sit next to Ross on the low bench he occupied. ‘I was wondering if perhaps you might like to join me?’_

_Ross’ breath caught, his dark eyes going wide. It wasn’t a proposal in the truest sense of the word, but he could see it for what it was meant to be._

_‘Do you mean it?’ he asked and Jim smiled at him, his eyes as deep as the ocean itself._

_‘Of course.’ he replied, keeping his voice low and his hand stealing to cover Ross’ out of sight of the patrolling nurses. ‘I want to spend what time I have with you once it belongs to us again. I love you.’_

_Ross met his eyes and nodded._

_‘Yes.’ He smiled broadly at the look of delight on Jim’s face. ‘And for the record, I love you too.’_

-

The farmer dropped them off at the gatehouse to Nampara and they strolled down the broad drive with its double row of oaks, the house just visible at the end.

‘Your parents will be so happy to have you back.’ Jim said, taking the opportunity of privacy to catch Ross’ hand and link their fingers together. He brought it briefly to his mouth, dropping a kiss on Ross’ knuckles. ‘I should warn you that Prudie has been cooking for at least three days.’

‘And I will do my best to do her magnificent repast justice.’ Ross’ stomach was already rumbling at the thought. ‘We didn’t get the same luxury dinners as you soft lot in the service.’

Jim snorted a laugh and the next thing Ross knew, he was being tumbled past the trees and into the fields beyond, landing on his back and slightly winded with Jim on top of him. They wrestled until finally, Ross tried wriggling to escape but Jim was strong as ever and pinned him very effectively, his hands secure around ross’ wrists and his sturdy body keeping him in place.

‘What was that about the service being soft?’ he asked, his eyes glinting. His thick hair hung in his eyes and Ross gave up, going pliant just to see those eyes darken and turn heated. He could hear his own blood rushing in his ears and making it’s way further down his body, his cock hardening without so much as a by-your-leave.

‘Nothing.’ he replied and Jim narrowed his eyes at him. He sat back, grinding down hard and making Ross gasp before dropping back down to kiss him. It was harsh and wet, a mess of tongues and teeth and Ross felt every bit of longing he’d been bottling up since they last parted bursting into a firestorm of want and he grabbed Jim by the arms, rolling them so he was underneath Ross.

‘Now who has the upper hand?’ he teased, letting out a surprised sound when Jim sat up abruptly to meet him halfway, the kiss hard and demanding. He used both hands to shove at Ross’ jacket and Ross complied easily, shrugging it off and throwing it over his shoulder. His shirt was next, followed by Jims until their skin met. Their kisses grew frantic and Ross heard himself grunting with effort as he sat up enough for Jim to get his hands on his trousers, making short work of the buckle and yanking them down around his hips.

‘Now that’s a sight I have dearly missed.’ he said, his hand going around Ross’ cock and sliding along in a way that was utterly familiar and yet still so thrilling. Ross closed his eyes and leaned down to rest their foreheads together.

‘You better hurry up.’ he muttered. ‘The last thing I need is for my family to find us fornicating in the meadow.’

‘Fornicating?’ Jim was laughing so hard his nose was all crinkled up. ‘Bloody army. You’re always so proper.’

‘So un-proper me then.’ Ross snorted and shoved him into the grass.

-

Grace checked the mantel clock and frowned, then consulted the delicate gold watch on her wrist.

‘Wherever could they be?’ She looked at Joshua, who was in his favourite armchair, nose buried in a book about Brunel.

‘They’re probably taking a leisurely drive back.’ he replied without looking up.

‘With Caroline driving? Unlikely.’ Grace pursed her lips. ‘Claude, go and tell Prudie that lunch will have to wait a bit.’

Claude unfolded himself from the Persian carpet and got up, three spaniels and Gloria in tow. He’d been stuck with dog-sitting as Jim hadn’t trusted taking her in the car.

‘If she throws a wooden spoon at me again, I’m mutineering.’ he declared and Joshua sighed and turned the page.

‘We should have never let him read that book about Edward Teach.’ Grace watched her younger son go. He was even ganglier than Ross had been at his age. ‘He’s getting ideas about running off to the Caribbean.’

‘Not a bad idea.’ Joshua mused. ‘He can get a bit of colour and take up smuggling. It’s a fine Cornish tradition.’

Grace smiled and then her ears perked up when she heard Prudie’s choice words for Ross’ lateness.

‘He’s going to be sorry.’ she chuckled. ‘Prudie is not one to be crossed.’

-

Ross did up his trousers and grimaced at the semen on his chest. It was streaked through the hair on his stomach and he gave Jim a pointed look.

‘Oh for God’s sake.’ Jim snickered and grabbed a handful of meadow grass. His hair was a fright, sticking up in six different directions at once and his own stomach was tacky. He attended to Ross and then discarded the grass for a fresh handful and tidied himself up before pulling up his trousers and casting about for his shirt, making a triumphant noise when he found it.

‘Your fault entirely.’ Ross got to his feet and noted the dirt on the knees of his trousers and the wrinkles in his shirt and jacket when he recovered it. ‘We may have to skip lunch.’

‘Good luck on that.’ Jim reached over and plucked a leaf from his hair, kissing him once before he brushed himself down. ‘Prudie will boil you like a ham if you do.’ His face went dreamy at the thought of Prudie's cooking. ‘And that would be a colossal waste of fine ham.’

Ross huffed and started walking, waiting for Jim to fall into step beside him. They made their way back to the drive and this time there were no distractions until they got to the turning circle in front of Nampara.

Ross stopped at the front door, running his hand along the wood before turning the handle and opening it. He felt oddly out of place but this was still his home and he walked in, Jim beside him. The hall was cool, the stone floor loud under the heels of his shoes. He stopped and felt Jim’s hand come to rest on the small of his back.

‘I know it’s strange.’ his voice was low. ‘Just breathe, my love.’

Ross nodded, inhaling deeply and getting all the scents of home rushing in at once. There were the roses in the vase on the console table to his left, summer drifting through the house with the tinge of books and the unmistakable hint of dog. Grace’s perfume lingered, rich and spicy, and it was her face that appeared at the door to the drawing room, her dark hair cut fashionably short and now streaked with grey at the temples. Her dark eyes went wide and she all but ran across the hall to throw her arms around him.

Ross embraced her in turn, resting his head on her shoulder and getting a fresh hit of perfume. It made him feel like a child again and felt himself shake right along with her.

‘Oh my darling boy.’ She pulled back, her eyes swimming with tears. ‘You’re back.’

‘I am.’ he replied and then got hit from the side by what felt like a tank but which turned out to be Claude.

‘Ross!’ He was beaming, bouncing him around like he had when he was still a child and not the teenager he now was. ‘You’re home!’

‘You’d think nobody knew.’ Jim laughed, nodding to Joshua as he appeared as well. He handed off the book he was still holding to Jim and then came to take Grace’s place, crushing Ross in a hold that belied his calm expression.

‘Welcome home, boy.’ He looked older than Ross remembered but the pride in his eyes eased the lines of his face. ‘It’s so very good to see you.’

‘It’s good to be home.’ Ross caught Jim’s smile over Joshua’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry it took so long.’ He watched Claude dig our handkerchief for Grace and she pressed it to her eyes.

‘I’m not going back to the kitchen again.’ he said, narrowing his eyes at Ross in a way that had Ross chuckling at how similar they were. ‘Prudie will definitely add me to the soup.’

Ross laughed loudly, catching him at the beck of the neck ruffling his thick hair. Claude protested but he was clearly pleased.

‘Jim, would you mind?’ Grace asked. ‘Prudie would never attempt to stew you. You are her favourite.’

Jim gave Ross a small secret smile and Ross knew that he was aware that Grace was really asking for a moment alone without trying to exclude him. It was the same with Silver and Flint and Ross supposed that for children as lucky as they had been, it meant that they were dearly loved. He disappeared into the back corridor and left the Poldarks to it.

Joshua beckoned to his other son and wife and they rounded on Ross, enclosing him in a warm wall of affection and relief that was almost tangible.

‘Well now you’re back we can get started on plans for the new rail line down to Penzance.’ Joshua said after a couple of minutes and Ross snorted.

‘No rest for the wicked.’ he replied and his father laughed and dropped a rare kiss on the top of his head (after he’d pulled Ross down low enough to receive it).

‘None at all.’ he replied.

-

Lunch was a long and drawn out affair and by the time they escaped, Ross was practically rolling. Caroline had not reappeared with his things and so he’d had to scavenge a bundle of clothes from his old wardrobe and now he and Jim were ambling along the track down to the cove, clothes under his arm and his other hand held firmly in Jim’s. Gloria ran in circles around them, barking and taking off to chase rabbits between the trees.

The sky was just beginning to darken at the edges and it reminded Ross of another summer evening not too long ago when he’d lain in the arms of a beautiful golden boy that had captured his heart and never let it go, although he had offered his own in exchange and Ross was forever grateful that he had.

‘It will take a bit of adjustment.’ Jim was saying, waving his free hand around to emphasise his words. ‘You’re so tall, but then Silver is too. You’ll just have to learn to duck.’

‘I was in the Tank Corps, Jim.’ Ross countered with a grin. ‘I think I’ll manage.’

They got to the brow of the hill that overlooked the bay and there was the lighthouse, tall and still reflecting a little of the setting sun. Jim stopped and turned to him, his hand coming to rest the backs of his fingers against Ross’ face.

‘I love you.’ he said, simply and with his feelings written in every part of his face.

‘I love you too.’ Ross replied and leaned in to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after, accruing dogs and books by the bundle until they were old and both had huge bushy beards. THE END.


	10. Epilogue

'Ross?' Jim's voice echoed up the stairs and he sighed and got up from his desk.

'What?' he shouted back down and that set off Gloria, who bounced up from her place at his feet and started barking madly. The little alcove served very well as his office and Ross had a small porthole sized window to watch the see from while me mused over designs. Thankfully, Joshua was perfectly happy for him to be the main creative side of their enterprises which meant he could spend all his time at the lighthouse, with the occasional trip into town or to London to meet investors or talk to the people in Whitehall. Jim hardly went anywhere if he could help it. He was not the chief lighthouse keeper but in his day to day comings and goings he was also chief cook and bottle washer as Ross designated him. It was a good life, one where they could be together and spend their time reading and sitting in front of the fire while the winter storms raged outside.

There was no reply from Jim and Ross knew that he would have to eventually go downstairs. He draped himself back over his chair, a deep seated wingback one with a cracked leather seat that was eminently comfortable, and got up, unfolding his long legs from underneath the desk and heading for the stairs, taking care not to trip over Gloria on the way down. He passed the bedroom on his way down and smiled, taking a moment to linger and look at the great iron framed bed, bigger than the one that now occupied Silver and Flint's cottage. It was dressed in a hand knitted cover, the squares that made it up variegated shades of blue. It had been a gift from his Great Aunt, who had deemed the lighthouse a drafty place even though she'd never set foot in it. Lying on the blanket was a magnificently enormous black cat. It was another cast-off, this time from the stables, and Jim had been completely taken in by Drake. He now worked as Joshua's head groom, having a truly natural knack with horses. In truth, Ross was lucky that they'd managed to get away with just the one kitten because Jim was terribly soft when it came to animals. He'd been christened Blackbeard and ruled the lighthouse with an iron paw, giving no mouse quarter should he find them. It was just as well he'd been taken in by them because he was a terror and nobody else would have had him, but Ross and Jim both had an affection for wild things.

Jim was in the kitchen, a letter in his hand. He was reading silently, lips moving but no sound coming from them and Ross leaned against the wall and watched him, enjoying the sight before him. It had been three years since their return from the war and he still found Jim every bit as alluring as he had then.

'Who is it from?' he asked and Jim looked up, the light just catching his eyes.

'It's from Will.' he said. 'He and Jack are proposing a visit.' He smiled and came over to slip an arm around Ross' waist, pulling him close. 'We can drink and reminisce.'

'We can introduce them to Caroline and Dwight.' Ross replied. The happy couple were now married and had their first on the way.

'Is that wise?' Jim asked, dimpling at him. 'I fear that Will and Caroline would make the most terrifying combination.'

'It will leave the rest of us to talk in peace.' Ross told him. 'And I don't know why you don't include yourself in that. You are truly a terror when you get going.'

'Nonsense.' Jim snorted. 'I am the most sensible one here.

'That is utter rubbish and you well know it.' Ross nosed at his cheek. 'Are you going to reply and invite them? They can stay in the main house. I'm sure my mother would be delighted to have them there.' 

'You don't want them here?' Jim asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

'Where on earth would we put them?' Ross asked and then laid a finger across Jim's mouth when he started to answer. 'And don't tell me hammocks would do the job.' 

'Just because you can't stay in one for long.' Jim laughed and kissed the tip of his nose. 'I'll write to them.' 

'Later.' Ross plucked the letter from his fingers and wrapped his fingers around Jim's wrist. 'I just remembered I have something urgent to discuss with you in the bedroom.' He bent low, having Jim easily over one shoulder and carting him up the stairs, both of them laughing all the way up. 

Gloria watched them leave, her head tilted in curiosity. Shortly a yowl came from the bedroom and Blackbeard came shooting down the stairs. he gave her a baleful look and Gloria ignored him, jumping up to curl on the sofa. A few minutes later, there was a soft body curling up against her side and they went to sleep, the bedsprings from above providing an energetic lullaby. 


End file.
